


Masquerading as a Man With a Reason

by WerewolvesAndWinchesters



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAndWinchesters/pseuds/WerewolvesAndWinchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hates lying to his dad, but it turns out he's not the only Stilinski who knows more about the supernatural than he should. But it isn't until the Sheriff asks his friends Sam and Dean Winchester to help out with a case that things go well and truly to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted over on FF.net but I hate the layout, so I'm bringing it over here. I will include original authors notes where applicable. Also, I'm still sorry for the delay in updates.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> P.S. the entire thing is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine and mine alone and I'm sorry. If you're interested in beta'ing, let me know :)

 

Stiles clutched his side as he tore through the woods surrounding the old Hale house. The full moon illuminated his path clearly but in his haste he kept tripping over logs and roots. _I need to get to him before it’s too late,_ he thought to himself. Suddenly, the toe of his sneaker caught on something and he flew through the air before landing heavily on his face in a pile of dead leaves.

_Seriously, how is this my life?_

His thoughts were broken by the sound of wolves howling in the distance. Stiles’ blood ran cold.

 _They don’t sound like they do after a successful hunt,_ he thought. _They sound…mournful._

The bottom dropped out of his stomach; he was too late.

 

///

 

_48 hours earlier_

 

Stiles was lying (or _horizontally reclined_ , as he told to his dad) on his bed working on his trigonometry homework when he heard the purr of an engine pull into his driveway. He shot off the bed and ran to the window expecting to see Derek’s black Camaro but instead saw an older model Chevrolet park behind his Jeep.

“All right!” he yelled, fist pumping the air.

He scrambled over the debris strewn across his room and pounded down the stairs and onto the porch just as the two men exited the car.

“Dean!”

 He launched himself off the porch and into the driver of the Impala.

Dean Winchester affectionately ruffled the top of Stiles’ head as if there was still hair there and Stiles rolled his eyes. Dean never returned his hugs. Sam said it had to do with Dean being emotionally stunted and hyper-masculine but Stiles always gave Dean a hug first. He thought that Dean just looked like the kind of person who hadn’t been hugged enough as a kid; besides, everyone knew a Stilinski hug was the best.

The second man had finished untangling his limbs from the car and was striding around the hood to join Dean and Stiles.

“Sam!”

Stiles grinned as the taller man wrapped his arms around him and squeezed lightly. _Sam Winchester is a man who knows the value of hugs_ , Stiles thought. _How he and Dean are brothers is beyond me._

“Hey Stiles,” Sam said. “How ya been?”

Stiles hesitated a moment before launching into a tirade about how unfair Mr. Harris was giving him detention _again_ today because he had deviated from the experiment they were supposed to be doing in regards to photosynthesis. He knew exactly what he was doing; it wasn’t his fault that Scott hadn’t been paying attention.

“It was for _science_ , I totally had it under control, I just wanted to see if it could be done,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault Scott dropped the jar holding the plant.”

“Your teacher gave you detention because you dropped a plant?” Dean asked incredulously.

Stiles looked a little embarrassed.

“Well, no, he gave me detention because the plant was on fire and may have caught Danny’s back pack on fire too,” he said, rubbing his neck.

“Stiles. How did a _plant_ catch on fire?” Sam asked, exchanging a look with Dean.

“I only wanted to see if the plant could survive on a mixture of water and rubbing alcohol,” he said quickly. “How was I supposed to know that it would make the leaves inherently flammable?”

Dean let out a chuckle at that. “Nerd,” he said, throwing a fond look at Sam. “I’m surrounded by nerds.”

“Hey, I’m not a nerd!” Stiles said indignantly. “If anything, I am a geek and you know what they say about us inheriting the earth.”

Sam snorted. “I’m pretty sure that was the ‘meek,’ Stiles. Any idea when your dad is going to be home?”

Stiles sighed. “Well I don’t think he’s working a double shift tonight, so let me call the station and let him know you’re here. Come on in.”

 

///

 

After a 10 minute long conversation with his dad about what was acceptable takeout for dinner, he finally conceded and let his dad order fries with his heart-attack inducing burger instead of a salad.

“Just this once and don’t forget my curly fries,” he said into the phone before hanging up.

He turned to the boys seated at his kitchen table. “Beers?”

Dean readily agreed but Sam waved off the offer and Stiles grabbed two beers from the fridge. He set the first one down in front of Dean and sat down at the table while trying (and failing) to open one for himself.

Dean and Sam exchanged another look before Sam reached over and snagged the beer out of his hands.

“Aren’t you a little young for a beer, Stiles?” he asked, as he opened the beer and took a sip.

“Yeah, not to mention your dad would kill us if he knew we let you have a beer,” Dean said.

“What my dad doesn’t know, won’t kill me,” Stiles said with what he hoped was an innocent look.

“Yeah, right,” Dean said with a snort. “Not gonna happen kid.”

“Fine,” he said with a long suffering sigh. “Party poopers. What brings you two down to our little neck of the woods?”

Again, Dean and Sam exchanged a look, but this time it was indecipherable to Stiles.

“Um, you know, just in the neighbourhood, thought we’d drop in and see you guys,” Sam said, dropping his eyes to the table.

Stiles peeked a glance at Dean and saw him fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle. _What gives?_

He snorted.

“Yeah, right, cuz Sioux Falls, North Dakota is next door neighbours with Beacon Hills,” he said dryly. Stiles was an expert at lying – _mostly to Scott and his_ _dad_ he thought with a twinge. _And now I can’t even lie to Scott because of his stupid wolf-y powers._ But that meant he was also pretty good at telling if someone else was lying. Not that the Winchesters weren’t making it super obvious or anything.

“So, what really brings you guys here?”

Again the Winchesters shared a look, before Sam turned to Stiles.

“Your dad called us. He needed our help on a case,” he said.

His stomach dropped as his heart began to race. _Why would Dad call the Winchesters to help out with his case? Does he know they weren’t really animal attacks?_

“Oh?” Stiles said. “Are you guys secretly like consulting detectives or something? Like one solves crimes and the other blogs about it?”

Sam chuckled at the reference but Dean looked blank, which wasn’t surprising. Dean’s pop culture references and taste in music were strictly confined to the ‘80s.

“Not exactly,” he said, but before he could elaborate further Stiles heard his father’s cruiser pull into the driveway and his stomach growled in anticipation of the curly fries he knew were in the paper bags piled in the front seat. His hunger beat out his curiosity and he excused himself from the table to help his dad carry in the food.

 

///

 

Dinner that night was more fun than Stiles could remember having with his dad in a while, as the Winchesters bantered back and forth and his dad chimed in occasionally with a dry remark. He kept trying to lead the conversation back to what they were doing in Beacon Hills in the first place or what it was exactly they did for a living, but after several unsuccessful tries he gave up and decided to just enjoy himself. His dad was smiling, something he hadn’t seen in a while and it made his chest constrict a little thinking about it. _I haven’t seen him this relaxed since before Scott was bitten and my entire life went to hell._ He thought about how much he hated lying to his dad about everything and how much extra stress he was causing him and it made him sick to his stomach. He set down his unfinished burger and looked at his container of half eaten curly fries wistfully. Nope. His appetite was well and truly gone. He pushed himself away from the table and realized three sets of eyes were trained on him.

“Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” he lied. “I’m gonna go finish my homework.”

He wrapped his food up and shoved it in the fridge before booking it up the stairs before his dad’s incredulous look became questioning.

He slipped quickly into his room and shut the door before flipping on the light switch.

Immediately, he choked back a yelp as he realized he wasn’t alone in the room.

“ _Je_ sus, Derek,” he said, hand over his heart trying to slow his rapid pulse. “Ever heard of a door? Or maybe a phone call? Or possibly a text message? A little warning might be nice in the future.”

Derek didn’t move from his position near the window. Stiles took a step forward before he noticed the werewolf’s eyes glowing bright blue.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Who. Are. They.” Derek growled through his fangs.

“They’re just friends of my dad’s, seriously calm down, I know you’re really territorial but this isn’t your territory and you don’t have to play guard dog every time someone new-”

Faster than the time it took for Stiles to blink, Derek crossed the room and pinned him against his door, cutting Stiles off before he could say anything else.

Derek growled low in his chest and the feeling reverberated through Stiles. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant, he thought. Once you got past the razor sharp teeth poised inches away from his jugular, that was.

“You never told me you were friends with _Hunters_.”


	2. Chapter 2

“WHAT?!”

Derek’s growling had steadily continued to climb in both force and volume. Pretty soon he’d reach monster truck level decibels, Stiles thought, and wasn’t that just ironic. Derek’s right arm was pressed up against Stiles’ chest and his body was pressed close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from Derek’s body and he wondered briefly what body temperature werewolves had naturally. Then he wondered if they noticed they ran hotter, and if they had trouble sleeping under covers and if they had to sleep nude because of it. Stiles stopped himself from following that train of thought because _really?_   Why was he going down **that** road? He locked down those thoughts, shoved them to the back of his mind and threw away the key. He was seconds away from asking Derek about werewolves’ body temperatures and the consequences thereof before he realized Derek was still pinning him bodily against his door and had not, in fact, answered his question.

“What do you mean Hunters? Dean’s a mechanic and Sam is going to school to be a _lawyer_ for Christ’s sake,” Stiles told him.

Derek pushed away from Stiles and began pacing the room. Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and assessed the situation. Derek’s eyes were still glowing bright blue but his ears and fangs had retracted so he looked – for the most part – normal. Or, well, normal for Derek Hale.

“Stiles, I can smell the gun powder on them,” Derek said as he continued to wear a hole in Stiles’ floor. “Not to mention the holy water, cedar stakes and small arsenal they have locked in the trunk.”

Stiles sagged against his bedroom door as he processed what Derek said. _The Winchesters – Hunters? Impossible._

“No, not possible dude,” he said, echoing his own thoughts. “We’ve met Hunters before, remember? They’re nothing like the Argents. Sam and Dean are _sane_.”

Derek growled again at the mention of the Argents. “Stiles, trust me on this. They’re Hunters. But I’m picking up a scent I don’t recognize – it’s almost human but there’s something strange about it and I can’t figure it out.”

It took Stiles no more than a second to realize what Derek was implying and he shook his head in disbelief.

“No, impossible, are you saying one of them is a werewolf or something?” he asked incredulously.

Derek snorted at that.

“Stiles, I think I would know what a werewolf smelled like, even if I hadn’t met them before,” he said. “No, neither of the men downstairs are anything more than human, but they’ve been in contact with someone who is. It’s all over the backseat of the Impala.”

“Wait, so if there are other things out there besides werewolves, does that mean that vampires are real too?!”

Derek shot Stiles a cold look.

“I need to find out more about these Winchesters,” he said, heading towards the window. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. And make sure Scott stays out of trouble too.”

And with that, he climbed out the window and disappeared into the night, leaving Stiles to once again figure out what was going on by himself.

 

///

 

After a few minutes of flailing around his room because _seriously, how was this his life_ Stiles slowly opened his bedroom door and poked his head out. He could just make out the voices drifting out of the kitchen. He dropped to the floor and army crawled to the edge of the stairs to listen. He felt guilty about spying on his dad and two of his dad’s closest friends, but knew this was the best way at gathering information so he could make a plan. One that preferably didn’t involve Derek tearing the Winchesters into pieces.

 _“We looked into it after you called us, and you’re right. There have been several minor omens in this area over the past few months.”_ Sam’s voice carried easily from the kitchen, but Stiles frowned as he tried to piece together what his words could mean.

Dean cut off whatever Stiles’ dad had been about to say. _“No, the omens weren’t the same as the ones six years ago. It’s unlikely that the same one that killed your wife has returned but we’ll set up protection around your house and we have ways of keeping you and Stiles safe when you’re not here.”_

Stiles jerked and almost fell down the steps when he heard Dean mention his mother. _How could Mom have anything to do with why the Winchesters are here? And how do they know I could be in danger? Do they know about Derek and Scott?_

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed Sam speaking again.

_“But the animal attacks are odd. That’s not how they usually operate so we might be dealing with something else as well. They could be working together but it’s unlikely.”_

Stiles’ blood ran cold. _They could find out about the werewolves,_ he thought frantically. _Not good, very not good._

Just then, he heard the chairs at the kitchen table scrape across the floor as all three of the men stood up. _There’s a cheap motel at the southern edge of town, it’ll be easier for you to work in peace there, you know how Stiles is,_ his dad said to the Winchesters. He heard them laugh before they headed for the door. Stiles scrambled to get to his feet and into his bedroom before anyone saw him.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he shut his eyes and took a deep breath before marching over to his computer and turning it on. Luckily it was Friday night and he didn’t have school in the morning because he knew it was going to be a long night. He glanced at the clock which read close to midnight and sighed as he popped two more Adderall and typed ‘Omens’ into his Google search bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming that Stiles' mom died when he was 10. Because to my knowledge, they haven't actually put a date (or cause - other than she was in the hospital) to her death. I may have also tweaked that a bit too. Eep.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Derek slid out of Stiles’ window and crept along the side of the house to the window in the kitchen. He kept himself hidden behind the bushes and the shadow cast by the house just in case the Winchesters weren’t the only thing he needed to defend himself against. The smell from the backseat of the Impala still clung to his senses and his worry pooled in the pit of his stomach as he considered it. The wolf inside him was howling at him to run, far away and fast, even though he somehow knew the being responsible for the smell was not malicious. The lingering sense of _power_ told Derek that the being could destroy him completely with no more than a thought if it chose to, but that it would only attack if it needed to. _Whatever it is, is protecting the Winchesters,_ Derek thought with wonder. _A supernatural being protecting those who hunt the supernatural._ The thought sent shivers running down his spine, and he dug his claws into his thigh to keep the wolf howling inside at bay.

The sound of the front door swinging open caught his attention and he mentally berated himself for getting so distracted. _Anything could have snuck up on me just know,_ he thought. _I didn’t even hear them leave the table._ The Winchesters and Sheriff Stilinski bade each other good night and the pair of Hunters got into their car and backed out of the driveway. Derek waited until he heard the Sheriff mount the stairs and wish Stiles goodnight before he crept out of the shadows and followed the distinctive trail left by the Winchesters.

_///_

The Winchesters checked into the slightly run down motel on the edge of Beacon Hills under the names Edward Van Halen and James Hetfield and if the clerk at the desk raised his eyebrows at the pair, he certainly didn’t comment on it. They grabbed their duffle bags and the bag of weapons and toted them into the small room at the end of the building. Derek watched this all from the tree line across the parking lot. It’s quiet enough on the edge of town that he could faintly make out what was happening inside the room even though the shades were drawn. The bags were set down and the taller one – Sam, he thinks – groaned lightly as he stretched his back and shoulders, still stiff from sitting in the cramped front seat all day. He heard the sound of a beer being cracked open and the TV set turned on. The sound of the shower drifted dimly through the closed bathroom door. He listened for some time, bfore it is clear to him that the men aren’t planning on doing anything more than unwind from being on the road for a long period of time. He melted back into the shadows of the forest and headed for the library near the centre of town.

He missed the moment when the two beating hearts inside the Winchesters’ motel room became three.

 

///

 

 _Contrary to what Stiles may think, I_ am _capable of doing my own research,_ Derek thought to himself as he hunched over the keyboard at the computer station at the back of the library. He made sure to pick the one facing away from the windows, tucked behind rows of shelving so the light from the screen wouldn’t be visible outside. Breaking into the library in the middle of the night just wasn’t something he enjoyed doing.

The first few searches on the Winchesters didn’t turn up anything, mostly gun forums and hunting supply depots. He knew better than to search for anything under their aliases, even though he knew Stiles didn’t think he had any clue about pop culture references. Half the time, he just did his level best to ignore whatever Stiles was saying anyways.

Frustrated by his lack of results, he tried to remember the search terms his teacher in high school had showed them to narrow down Google hits. Searching the term ‘Winchester’ but excluding anything about guns or ammo turned up a small town’s newspaper article about a John Winchester who had recently returned from serving in the Marines overseas. Doing the math quickly in his head, he realized the man was old enough to be the Winchesters’ father and confirmed the fact by searching through the newspapers online archive only to find two birth announcements four years apart for a Dean Michael and a Samuel John Winchester. He kept looking through the articles on the website tagged as ‘Winchester’ and found another article about a horrible house fire that killed Mary Winchester six months after Sam was born. After that, there was nothing.

He went back to Google to try his search again. _There has to be something I’m missing,_ he thought. _Why are they here? And why now?_ He typed “Winchesters, Beacon Hills” into the search bar and made sure the guns and ammo hits were excluded before hitting enter.

The first hit in the list was an obituary for Cassandra Ginevra Stilinski, nee Winchester.

Derek stared at the screen in disbelief.

“ **Well shit**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Née is a term used to identify a woman's maiden family name. In this case, she was born a Winchester but married a Stilinski.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Dean snapped Sam’s laptop shut and ran his hands roughly through his hair. The sound of the shower stopped in the bathroom and Sam emerged a few minutes later clad in only a towel. The younger man began pulling on a fresh pair of clothes as Dean mustered the energy to rise out of the chair for his turn in the shower. The faint rustle of wings that heralded the arrival of the angel Castiel barely startled the Winchesters any more. Nearly two years had passed since Dean had been resurrected by Cas and although all three of them were still trying to stop Lucifer and the apocalypse, only an uneasy truce kept them together most days. Most of the problem was Dean though, as he was still mad at Sam for turning to Ruby instead of him and he was still having a hard time trusting the angel. Although things had gotten a lot better between the two of them, they still had a long way to go.

“Cas, any idea what we’re up against here?” Dean asked gruffly. His research had hit a brick wall and he was beginning to get frustrated by his lack of answers.

The angel cocked his head to the side as if he was listening to something only he could hear. He paused a moment before replying.

“You were right to assume it was the work of a demon,” Castiel replied in a gravelly voice. “I sense at least one of them, although I doubt it is very powerful. Old and crafty, yes, but not very powerful.”

“But what about the animal attacks the Sheriff was telling us about?” Sam asked. “They don’t fit into a demon’s M.O., nor are they consistent with ritual sacrifice. None of the organs were missing from any of the victims so it couldn’t have been the work of a werewolf or a shapeshifter. A Wendigo, maybe?”

“A Wendigo this close to civilization Sam? I doubt it,” Dean said. “That’s just the problem, none of the victims have anything in common, and none of them died the same either.”

Dean turned to where Castiel had been standing only to find the angel had disappeared.

“What the hell, Cas?”

Seconds later the angel reappeared. “I had to take a closer look at the man who followed you here, but I will agree with you that it is not a type of werewolf or shapeshifter that you are familiar with.”

It took a split second for the words to register with Dean but he was out the door to their motel room with his Beretta in hand before Sam could process with the angel had said. When he realized what was happening he grabbed a sawed-off and to rear guard for his brother as they scoped out the parking lot and headed towards the wooded lot.

Cas materialized beside Dean and the man jumped.

“Jesus Cas! What the hell are you doing?!” he hissed.

“Dean, the man is no longer here therefore you do not need to search the woods,” the angel. “He is currently sitting in the library doing research on you and Sam, but he is not a threat nor is he responsible for any deaths.”

“What do you mean he is doing research on me and Dean?” Sam asked as he headed back towards the motel room before they drew attention to themselves.

“I believe he may have followed you from the Sheriff’s house and it is possible he may be wondering what another set of Hunters is doing in Beacon Hills,” Cas replied.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there feathers,” Dean interjected. “What do you mean _another_ pair of Hunters in Beacon Hills? We talked to Bobby, ain’t nobody here but us.”

Castiel let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand roughly through his mop of untidy hair. The angel had begun to pick up mannerisms from the older Winchester and if Dean hadn’t been so confused he may have chuckled at the action. _I am probably the worst role model for an angel to base his human behaviours on,_ he thought wryly.

“Dean. Bobby only knows of one particular network of Hunters through the Roadhouse,” he said. “Did you really think there were only about 30 of you trying to protect all of America from the supernatural?”

“Huh,” Dean said slowly. “Guess I hadn’t given it much thought, actually.”

“That makes sense,” Sam said, finally joining the conversation again. “Not to mention, we _are_ pretty far out of our normal territory.”

“Which brings me to another question,” Dean said. “What was Dad doing this far west six years ago?”

 

///

 

Stiles groaned as he stretched, popping the vertebrae in his spine before he popped the top on one of the illicit cans of Red Bull he had stashed around his room. He knew he shouldn’t be mixing his Adderall with the energy drinks his dad forbade him to have, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He didn’t want to call it a night – _or morning,_ he though dryly as he glanced at the clock beside his bed – until he finished piecing together the puzzle. He was so close, he knew it.

“But what does this have to do with my mom?” he said, at loss.

“More than you’d think,” came a voice from behind him.

Stiles jumped at the voice, knocking the can of energy drink all over himself and his keyboard, and most certainly _not_ shriek in terror. And if he did, it was definitely a manly shriek.

“Fuck, Derek, you can’t just _do_ that,” Stiles said as he turned to face the broody werewolf climbing in through his bedroom window.  “You’re going to give me a fucking heart attack one of these days.”

He stood from his computer chair and walked over to the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his room. Grabbing a shirt from the top of the pile, he crossed back over to his computer and started wiping the Red Bull off of his desk and keyboard.

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep mixing your Adderall with energy drinks,” Derek said drily. He sniffed. “Or if you keep popping them like they’re Tic Tacs.”

Stiles paused momentarily in his clean up to shoot Derek a glare. “How did you-? No, never mind, I know. It was your stupid wolf-y powers, wasn’t it?”

Derek didn’t say anything; his face remained impassive as he stared at Stiles. Stiles snorted and went back to cleaning his keyboard. He managed to mop up most of the beverage and tried a few keys to make sure it still worked. The ‘S’ key stuck as he typed his name, dragging the letter across the page.

“Aww maaaaaaaaaan,” he whined. “Now my keyboard is all sticky.”

Derek raised his eyebrow in Stiles’ direction and the boy flushed red. “Not that kind of sticky, ohmygod Derek,” he choked out. “What are you, like twelve?”

“I didn’t say a thing,” he said. Stiles could have sworn he saw the corners of Derek’s lip twitch, as if fighting back a smile. But he knew better; Derek the Sourwolf never smiled.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek’s words. “But what does this have to do with my mom, Derek?”

He tossed the now soaking-wet dirty t-shirt back on to the laundry pile and realized the clothes he was still wearing were wet and sticky from the energy drink. He headed to his dresser and grabbed a fresh pair of pajama bottoms and his favourite Batman t-shirt. It had been washed so many times the fabric had stretched and worn down to threads but Stiles refused to throw it out. It had been one of the last gifts he had received from his mom before she died. All this talk about his mom had made him miss her so he sought comfort in the familiar fabric.

Derek still hadn’t responded so Stiles turned to him and motioned for him to turn around so he could change into the clean clothes. He wasn’t embarrassed about his body; sure he knew he was a little scrawny but he had changed a million times in front of other boys on the lacrosse team and had thought nothing of it. But it was Derek _freakin’_ Hale, who probably had an eight-pack and pecs so defined you could probably count each individual cord of muscle. Derek Hale, who looked enough like a Greek god with his shirt on, Lord only knows what he would look like naked- _whoa, where did that come from? Nope, so not dealing with this right now._ He swallowed hard and fought the blush that was once again rising in his cheeks.

Derek still hadn’t moved. Instead he looked at Stiles and raised his eyebrow again. Stiles fought to control the slow roil of arousal that had started in his stomach. _This is so not the time for, for… whatever this is,_ he thought. _It’s probably just all the Adderall._ He coughed to clear his throat and made a frantic gesture for Derek to turn around. Derek huffed and turned his back to Stiles, who promptly ripped off his shirt and pants and climbed into his pajama pants while trying to cover his bare torso with his t-shirt. Unfortunately, Stiles wasn’t very coordinated at trying to put pants on when he only had to focus on the one task; trying to put on a shirt and pants at the same time was not something even the most coordinated person could achieve. Needless to say, Stiles’ foot stepped on the hemline of his pants and he hopped around a bit trying to free it as he tried to step into the other pant before losing his balance and falling to the ground. In just his boxers. In front of Derek Hale.

Who turned at the sound of Stiles crashing to the floor and growled impatiently. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

Stiles covered his face with his hands to hide the fact that he was blushing again. Then he realized he was still practically naked and Derek was staring. Right. At. Him.

“Dude!” he screeched, scrambling to pull on his shirt. “Stop. Staring.”

Derek growled, but turned away again.

Stiles squeaked and shoved his pajama pants on quickly to try and save what little dignity he had left. For some unknown reason, Derek’s constant growling was shooting straight through Stiles’ body and pooling in his groin. _Great, the last thing I need him to see right now: my erection,_ he thought, mortified.  _Although with my luck he can probably smell it._

Stiles groaned as he lay on the floor, finally fully clothed. _Seriously, how is this my life? And when did I become attracted to_ Derek _freakin’_ Hale _?_

“Stiles. Quit messing around. Tell me what you found,” Derek said impatiently.

“No, not until you tell me what this has to do with my mom,” Stiles said, sitting up and giving Derek his best ‘I’m-a-badass, don’t-fuck-with-me’ look.

“Stiles.” Derek growled again, eyes flashing electric blue. And _wow, I’m really going to have to reexamine my life choices_ because the whole ‘seconds-away-from-turning-into-a-giant-wolf’ thing _shouldn’t_ be that hot.

Stiles let out a theatrical sigh and threw his hands in the air. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll show you what I’ve found.”

As he dropped his hands and moved to get off the floor, he tried to discretely adjust his boxers to hide his erection. _Oh my God, what is my life._

He strode past Derek and plunked himself down in his computer chair. He motioned for Derek to come closer to the computer so he could see what Stiles had found. Stiles brought up the word document where he had typed all of the relevant information up and scrolled down to the last page where he had summarized his findings. (He may be just a high school student with a short attention span and a penchant to relate everything to a Marvel comic scenario, but let it be known that Stiles Stilinski was the master of researching AND of presenting said research in a way that would make many a university professor weep with joy. Mostly because he was practicing for his future research projects in university, but also because even when writing down his research he tended to get a little sidetracked. For instance, if he was to let Derek read all 23 pages of research that Stiles had typed up about omens, Derek would find a short page-and-a-half long dissertation about the movie “Omen” and why, in Stiles’ opinion, the 1976 original was far better than the remake. Even though the man who played Sabretooth is in the new one.)

Derek leaned in close over Stiles’ shoulder and quickly scanned the page. Stiles stiffened and held his breath at the proximity of the other man. He was close enough that Stiles could hear each soft inhale and exhale as Derek breathed next to him. Stiles didn’t move a muscle. Not because he was afraid but because the feeling of arousal in his gut had returned tenfold and he was still trying to process what it all means. _Now is not the time for a big, gay freakout Stilinski. You’ve got shit to do._

Derek exhaled loudly as he finished reading the summary and pushed away from the computer desk. “So, what do you think?”  he asked as he began silently pacing the room.

Stiles spun in his computer chair and crossed his ankle over his knee to hide his – _thank God_ – disappearing erection, and scrubbed both hands forcefully through his short hair.

“Well, a demon seems like the most likely thing to cause omens,” Stiles told the pacing wolf. “And I looked into it, and Beacon Hills has had a number of low-grade demon omens over the past few months. And it explains why Sam and Dean are carrying shotguns and holy water, only IT DOESN’T EXPLAIN THAT AT ALL.” Stiles rose from his chair as he hissed at Derek in a whisper. “SAM IS GOING TO BE A LAWYER. DEAN IS A MECHANIC. I HAVE KNOWN THEM FOR SIX YEARS. THEY’RE NOT HUNTERS. THEY CAN’T BE. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON DEREK?” With that, he flopped face first on to his bed. “And what the fuck does this have to do with my mom?”

He flipped over on to his back shoot Derek a look, but it was too late.

Derek was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: It's set basically in season 6 of Supernatural (2010 for the boys) meaning Dean is now 31 and Sam is 27. However, since season 1 of Teen Wolf aired in 2011, there's a one year difference that I'm ignoring. For all intents and purposes this is 2011 for everybody, regardless of their respective seasons.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes as he flipped through his dad’s journal for the billionth time. Although he had looked through it so many times he was pretty sure he had it memorized, the book did not contain any clues as to why John Winchester had been in Beacon Hills six years earlier.

He looked over at Sam who was still searching the Internet for clues.

“You got anything?” he asked his brother.

“Well it looks like there was some low level demon activity around here but nothing big enough to cause Dad to drive all the way out here,” Sam said. “There was horrible house fire that occurred around the time that you met up with him that killed a whole family. It’s since been reopened as an arson case but other than a hit and run that killed one woman, there was basically nothing going on here. You sure you don’t remember anything Dad said when he called you out here?”

“Just to hurry up and get here,” Dean replied. “Only by the time I got here, he told me the demon was taken care of and was ready to high-tail it out of here. Although…” Dean broke off and thought for a moment.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Do you remember Dad ever staying in town after a job to attend a funeral?” Dean said. “Because we stayed just long enough for him to visit the cemetery during the service and for him to introduce me to the Sheriff before he booked it out of town.”

“No,” Sam said, drawing out the ‘O’ and shaking his head. “Not that I can remember. Did the Sheriff say anything to you after he left?”

Dean shook his head. “Naw, he was grieving and I didn’t want to bother him so I didn’t talk to him after Dad left. But, come to think of it, Dad _did_ act really strange when he introduced me but I never asked him about it.”

“Strange how? Dad was strange about a lot of things. We hunt monsters for a living Dean,” Sam quipped.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, as he leveled a ‘look’ at his brother. “I don’t know, like he didn’t really know how to introduce him to me. The Sheriff started to say they were in the Marines together, but Dad said they knew each other from school. And they both kind of kept staring at each other, like they were waiting for the other person to say something first. It was weird.”

“Huh,” Sam said as he closed the laptop. “Looks like we’re going to have to have another chat with the Sheriff in the morning.”

 

///

 

 _Stiles’ heart was pounding right out of his chest as he struggled to fit the key into the ignition of his little car –_ wait, what? – _and he glanced through the windows of the vehicle to make sure he wasn’t followed_ – by who? – _and he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. Familiar-but-unfamiliar brown eyes stared back at him. They looked just like his own eyes, but something wasn’t right. They were set a little farther apart above a cute button nose, with too-long eyelashes painted darker with mascara. And was that_ eyeliner _?! –_ what the hell is going on?! – _His, no not his,_ his mother’s – Jesus Christ – _his mother’s eyes widened and he looked quickly down at the body that was so familiar and yet not his, before the fear that had been chasing him since the smoldering Hale house caught up with him again and the body that didn’t belong to him moved under its own volition, starting up the car and throwing it into gear before slamming down on the gas pedal and peeling away from the edge of the forest. Stiles watched through his mother’s eyes as she navigated the road away from where Derek and his family had lived towards the town, panic beginning to ease in his chest as the road behind him remained empty. They weren’t being followed._

_Suddenly, the sound of an engine roaring drowned out his senses before an SUV blazed out of the forest in front of him and skidded onto the road to face him, blinding him with its high-beams. Stiles felt the body slam on the brake and the small car shuddered to a stop._

_A strange voice carried over the sound of the engine revving and despite the windows of the car being rolled up, Stiles could hear it clearly._

_“You can run, but you can’t hide little Winchester,” said the female voice. It sounded familiar to Stiles and he squinted through the headlights and tried to make out the driver of the vehicle but it was useless. “You should know better. Did you think we’d just let you get away with calling in big brother for help?” The engine revved again. “Think again.”_

_Stiles didn’t even have time to react as the SUV gunned forward towards him. Luckily, the body moved for him, shifting the car into reverse and slamming on the gas. As the car picked up speed as it backed away from the oncoming SUV, Stiles felt the body jerk the wheel and pull the emergency brake to throw the car sideways before quickly throwing it into drive and peeling away out of the slide in a move Stiles had only ever seen in movies –_ how the hell does Mom know how to drive like this? – _The gap between the two vehicles started to lengthen. Stiles did a silent cheer in his head before the sound of a gun went off and the rear windshield shattered under the impact of a bullet. He felt the car jerk to the side reflexively and the back of the car fishtailed on the road. Unfortunately, it gave whoever was shooting at them enough of a target to shoot at the wheel of the car. A shot rang out moments before he heard the loud bang of the rear tire exploding and he lost control of the car. It careened off the road and he covered his face with his arms as the car struck a tree and he was thrown into the airbag._

_He must have blacked out for a moment because suddenly bright lights were shining in through the driver’s side window. He raised his head and tried to look at where the light was coming from but everything was tinted red. He wiped a hand across his eyes and it came away smeared red with blood and black from mascara. He looked out the window again and could make out the outline of the SUV stopped fifty feet from his car, perpendicular to where his car lay on the side of the road. He knew what was coming as he frantically tried to start the engine again but it wouldn’t turn over._

_The sound of laughter carried over the sound of the SUV revving its engine before it started speeding toward where Stiles was helplessly trapped inside his mother’s car. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror again and he caught his own gaze as a voice that was not his - but one he longed to hear again after six years – spilled out of his mouth. “Run Stiles,” it said as the headlights drew closer._

_“_ **Run.** _”_

 

Stiles woke with a start and frantically looked around his room from where he had fallen asleep at his computer desk. His eyes were still dazzled as if he had really looked into the high-beams of a car and he could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. “Mom?” he said, voice hoarse as if he had been screaming.

Suddenly, the sound of metal slamming into metal was in his head and the sound of breaking glass filled his bedroom. “Mom,” he repeated before he ran to the bathroom and vomited.

 

///

 

Derek knew he should have told Stiles about what he found at the library, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed that the boy was related to a pair of Hunters. For all he knew, the Sheriff could have been a Hunter too, and just never told Stiles. It was unlikely he was though, because from what he’d seen of the Argents, they would never call for back-up unless they were completely out of their league and even then it would be grudgingly. The Sheriff hadn’t seemed like it was painful for him to ask for help from the Winchesters so that wasn’t it. And Stiles certainly wasn’t a Hunter – he was more of a liability with a weapon than anything else.

Still.

Something wasn’t sitting well with Derek or his wolf and he could feel his hackles go up involuntarily and his fingernails begin lengthen into claws against his will. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. His heart was beating hard in his chest and the deep, usually calming, breaths he was taking weren’t working. He knew if he looked in the mirror his eyes would be electric blue and he could feel his fangs cutting into his lip. _It isn’t just the fact that Stiles’ mother was related to Hunters and may have even been a Hunter herself_ , he thought to himself. _There has to be something else. I shouldn’t be losing control like this._

Suddenly Derek felt rather than heard the pounding of a heart coming from the second story window of the house he was watching from the tree line. _Stiles!_

Derek was rushing forward and scaling the house before he even realized it and stopped when he caught his reflection in the window of Stiles’ bedroom. No fangs, no glowing eyes. He looked down at his hands and noticed that his claws had retracted and they were normal human hands again.

Before Derek could stop to think about what that meant, he noticed that Stiles’ bedroom was empty but he could still hear his pounding heart, although it was slowing down a bit. He quietly slid the window open and climbed inside. He heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom and he silently crossed Stiles’ room and slipped into the hallway, listening for the Sheriff’s heartbeat. The sound was coming from the Sheriff’s room, and judging by the lingering smell of whiskey emanating from underneath the door, it was unlikely that he had heard Stiles throwing up and wouldn’t come investigating if he heard two voices.

“Stiles,” Derek said as he slipped into the bathroom and saw the boy sprawled on the floor with his head resting against the porcelain of the toilet bowl. He went to close the door, but the smell of bile hit him them and he forced his stomach to not heave up his own dinner. He was never good with the smell of vomit, even before he grew into his wolf senses. He left the door open to allow the room to vent.

“Stiles, what happened?” he asked as he knelt on the floor next to the prone boy.

“Wow, that sentence had punctuation, you must really be concerned,” Stiles said dryly as he turned his head to look at the werewolf in his bathroom. The tear tracks on his cheeks glinted in the light when he moved. Derek felt his stomach clench but he stuffed down the emotions threatening to spill out and focused instead on the beating of Stiles’ heart. It was still thumping erratically and made his own heart start to speed up to match its tempo.

Bewildered at his lack of control over his own body, Derek awkwardly placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”

Stiles’ heartbeat stuttered briefly when Derek touched him, but slowed down and evened out to a normal rhythm as Stiles took a deep breath and laid his head back down against the cool porcelain. His clenched his eyes shut and swallowed thickly before responding.

“No,” he said, eyes still closed. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“What was it?” Derek asked, as his hand began moving in small circles on Stiles’ back, seemingly of its own volition. Stiles tensed momentarily before giving a small sigh and relaxing against the touch. “Was it a panic attack?”

“No, it- well, sort of, but-” Stiles stopped and took a shuddering breath before opening his eyes and looking straight at Derek.

“I think I just watched my mom die.”


	6. Chapter 6

Derek reeled back at Stiles’ words and the hand rubbing Stiles’ back stilled. “What do you mean?” he said with a frown.

Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, before moving into a sitting position with his back against the bathroom vanity. “I don’t know if I can explain it Derek. I don’t even understand what happened myself.”

Derek realized his hand was still floating in mid-air from where it had rested on Stiles’ back before he moved away. With a jerk, he pulled back his hand and got to his feet. He didn’t understand what was going on with Stiles either but what was more upsetting is he didn’t understand what was going on with _him_.

He had planned on returning to the house after he had talked to Stiles about the omens but something inside him had told him to stay where he was on the property line of the Stilinski house and the forest. So he had sat in the shadows and watched Stiles’ window, even though he hadn’t seen any movement in it a while. _Stiles must have fallen asleep at his desk_ he had thought to himself and he couldn’t have helped the wave of emotion that rolled through his body or the contented hum of his wolf as the image of Stiles asleep and drooling on his now sticky keyboard flashed through his mind. He had remembered the flush of Stiles’ cheeks when he said _Not that kind of sticky, ohmygod Derek_. _What are you, like twelve?_ and his mind had supplied the image of what Stiles would look like, flushed down the length of his naked body and covered in sweat as he watched videos on his computer. He had wondered idly if Stiles would continue to talk and make noises or if he could be struck mute – _but why do I care?_ He had thought to himself as he had cut off that train of thought. _I don’t care what Stiles looks like naked, or if he makes any noise when he’s coming, or if that big, loud mouth would look perfect wrapped around_ – he had cut himself off again as his traitorous mind helpfully began providing pictures to go along with his commentary and he had become aware of himself again as he noticed his claws were digging into his thigh and his jeans were painfully tight. Embarrassed even though there was no one around, he had shook himself physically and mentally to get the thoughts of Stiles out of his head, and had tried to figure out why the Winchesters had shown up in Beacon Hills. It was while he was firmly entrenched in his thoughts about the Winchesters and their ties to Stiles and his mother when he had felt the acceleration of Stiles’ heart and had rushed in to see what was the matter.

His heart had clenched painfully in his chest when he had found Stiles curled up around the toilet with bloodshot eyes and a tear streaked face. He had reached out involuntarily as his wolf howled at him to comfort the boy.

And now here he was reaching out still for that same boy, disappointed at the lack of contact and bewildered at what was going on. _It’s just Stiles, a spazzy teenager with a big mouth who annoys the crap out of everyone and is always underfoot. He’s stubborn, and self-conscious even he constantly tells everyone how awesome he is and is absolutely infuriating,_ he thought. But the wolf inside whined low at Derek’s thoughts. _Loyal,_ it corrected. _Strong. Passionate. Caring. Self sacrificing. Challenging._ Derek shook his head. He refused to look at what the wolf was telling him and he snapped back to the immediate situation of Stiles sitting with his back to the vanity and staring at him with a look Derek didn’t understand.

He didn’t like that look.

“Well, tell me what happened anyway and we can figure it out,” he said.

Derek Hale was nothing if not the master of avoidance.

Stiles sighed and slowly rose to his feet as if he were sixty instead of sixteen. He turned on the tap and splashed some cold water on his face before drying it with a towel and heading towards his bedroom. Derek watched him, perplexed, from where he was still kneeling on the bathroom floor. He also got to his feet and stalked towards the bedroom, freezing when he saw Stiles’ shirt riding high above his low-slung pajama bottoms, as he stretched on his tip-toes to reach a shoe box stuffed towards the back of the top shelf in his closet. Derek could see Stiles’ fingers brushing up against the box and knew that Stiles’ would be unable to grab it. He straightened his shoulders, walked over the closet and reached up to grab the box, brushing against Stiles as he extended a claw and hooked it under the lid of the box, pulling it forward. The brief brush of contact created a pool of heat in his stomach and he forcefully tried not to focus on it as he realized Stiles was talking.

“But how dude, we’re like the same height!” he whined as he took the box from Derek’s hands.

Derek’s mouth twitched as he bit back a smile and held up his middle finger to Stiles, extending the claw to show him the advantage it gave him. “And don’t call me dude,” he growled.

Stiles’ face flushed and he quickly sat down on the bed and opened the box. “Yeah, well. Whatever, Wolverine,” he muttered under his breath, either forgetting Derek could still hear him or just not caring.

Inside the shoe box were dozens of newspaper clippings, letters and pictures and Stiles lifted out the top photo of a beautiful woman with soft brown hair and lush, perfect lips stretched out into a grin as she tilted her head back, clearly laughing at the small child sitting on his bottom with a surprised look on his face. Derek sat down on the bed next to Stiles and ignoring the look of surprise he shot him, took the picture from Stiles’ hands to look at it closely. He knew that if the woman’s eyes had been open, they would be a warm caramel color much like the pair that were still trained at his face. The look of surprise on the baby’s face was pretty comical especially when he realized he had seen that look himself.

“You still make this face sometimes when you’re surprised,” Derek said quietly, without making eye contact. As the words left his mouth, he instantly regretted saying anything, but the roiling heat in his belly had returned and he found himself having trouble concentrating on anything more than the beating of the heart next to him and the soft intake of breath from Stiles after he spoke.

“This is my favourite picture of her,” Stiles admitted quietly, finally tearing his eyes away from Derek and looking down at the photo in his hands. “It was taken when I first started walking and Dad wanted a picture of me walking to Mom, but I fell down on my butt just as he snapped the picture. I have more pictures of her, pictures of us. And they’re more recent. But this one is my favourite because she was always smiling and laughing and I just miss her laugh so much some days, I can’t breathe.”

Stiles took a shuddering breath before he continued.

“I started getting panic attacks after she died. At first it was whenever I was in a car, but eventually it got so bad that if I hadn’t heard from my Dad in a few hours I would begin to panic. That’s why I have the police scanner in my bedroom,” he said pointing to the black box sitting on the corner of his desk. “I had to know that he was ok, that he wasn’t getting sent to dangerous situations, that he hadn’t been in an accident. I used to call him at work at two in the morning because I couldn’t fall back asleep unless I knew he was ok.” Stiles looked down at the next picture in the box, one that he had obviously taken himself as a kid Derek thought, mostly since it was slightly out of focus and off centre but because it looked like the Sheriff and his wife were unaware of their audience as they slow danced together in their living room. “She used to do the same thing. Listen to the scanner, I mean. Before she and Dad had me they lived close to L.A. and Dad was a rookie cop on the force, patrolling a pretty rough neighbourhood. One night, there was some gang activity and Dad was shot but no one on the force called Mom. She just woke up in the morning and he wasn’t home. She started freaking out, because he was supposed to have been home before midnight and she was going to tell him she was pregnant. But she fell asleep and he never came home. Dad used to tell me the story when Mom wasn’t listening because she hated that day, but the guys that my dad worked with told him how she marched into the precinct like an avenging angel, hair flying behind her and a look that would freeze the sun on her face, demanding to know what had happened to her husband and why no one had called her.” Stiles paused and quickly wiped a tear off his cheek. “He was ok, obviously, just a flesh wound to the shoulder, but Mom was so freaked out that she made him move out here where things were quieter and he was less likely to get hurt.”

Derek sat in stillness and in silence as Stiles’ words washed over him. He didn’t understand why the boy was telling him all this, couldn’t understand why he didn’t stop him and tell him he didn’t care. But something inside him wanted to reciprocate, wanted to give back the intimacy that Stiles was so unwittingly giving to him. Wanted to tell him about how his mother would tuck them all into their parents’ bed on the nights of the full moon, while she and their father and the other members of their pack went out and ran and howled and played in the moonlight. Wanted to tell him how his dad had taught him to play baseball and taught him how to control his strength so he could still play sports without giving anything away or having an unfair advantage. Wanted to tell him how, after the fire, when it was just him and Laura and their uncle Peter who would be stuck in the nursing home for the rest of their lives, how they would still curl up in bed together on the nights of the full moon, no matter where they were but it wasn’t the same because the bed only had two people instead of six and there were no sounds of wolves howling outside their window and it made them both so sick to their stomachs.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t.

It didn’t matter because Stiles, never one for silence, had started speaking again but this time the far-away look in his eyes was more haunted and terrified than just nostalgic and sad.

“The night that she died, my dad had been working and she was at home with me. All day she had been really edgy and wired but I just assumed it was because Dad was working a double and hadn’t been home in a while. I asked her what was wrong but she just shook her head and smiled a tight smile at me and told me not to worry about it. I had heard her on the phone talking to someone urgently but quietly and I thought it was my dad because she kept telling him to hurry up and get here because something bad was going to happen.”

Stiles paused in his story again and looked at Derek. “I used to think it was mother’s intuition, that she was always able to tell when something bad was going to happen. She told me that the night Dad got shot, she felt sick and dreamed of the steady beeping of a hospital heart monitor but chalked it up to nerves and just finding out she was pregnant. But after that, she always trusted her instincts and more than once showed up just as I was about to do something potentially dangerous to save my ass.”

Derek snorted a bit and Stiles rounded incredulous eyes at him. He lifted his eyebrow. “You? Do something dangerous? Never.”

Stiles laughed weakly. “Look at that. Sourwolf’s got jokes today.” He cleared his throat before continuing.

“So any ways, I just figured she thought something bad was gonna happen and she wanted my dad home before shit hit the fan. But when she hung up she didn’t say ‘I love you’ and she _always_ told my dad that before they were apart, whether it was when Mom had to go out of town or if Dad was leaving for work. She always said it. And by the time I had to go to bed, Dad still hadn’t come home and Mom was just sitting at the kitchen table staring at the wall. It was the worst I had ever seen her like that. Once, there was an explosion at one of the factories at the edge of town and emergency crews were there for hours trying to rescue survivors and put out the fire. Three hours before the explosion even happened, Mom did the same thing, where she just sat and stared at the wall before suddenly jumping up and making tons and tons of sandwiches and jugs of cold juice and thermoses of coffee and then packed it all up in a duffle bag stuffed with bandages and antiseptic and other first aid supplies. Then she turned on the scanner and waited. When the call came in about the explosion, she was ready and bundled me and the duffle of stuff into the car and headed towards the factory. She pulled over once, and waited for about ten minutes before continuing on her way. I only found out later that there had been a secondary explosion at that time and Mom had just been waiting for things to calm down before bringing the emergency crews food and coffee and helped out with minor injuries while I waited in the car. I don’t know how she knew it, but I never questioned it. I just knew she was right. The night that she died was much the same, except she never packed up the duffle bag. She tucked me into bed, and read me my favourite parts of my favourite book before tucking me into bed like a mummy so I couldn’t move while she tickled me. She hadn’t done that for years because I was convinced I was too old for that stuff.”

Derek wanted so much to reach out and touch Stiles, and tell him he had been the same – too old to enjoy the things his parents did when he was a kid. And how now he would give anything in the world just to have his mother tuck him into bed again or hear his father read them all a bedtime story.

“I should have known then that something really bad was going to happen,” Stiles said with a sniff. “I should have known that would be the last time I saw her, and I would have told her I loved her over and over and over again until I fell asleep.” Stiles’ breath hitches and he tilts his head toward the ceiling and blinks rapidly. “I would have made sure she didn’t leave that night.”

The efforts to contain the tears were in vain, as Stiles’ shoulders began to shake before his whole body was wracked with sobs. Derek’s heart clenched and his wolf whined at the smell of sorrow and grief rolling off of Stiles.

Almost like his body was moving on its own volition again, Derek felt his arm wrap around Stiles’ shoulder and tug him closer. He felt the boy stiffen up and almost released his grip before Stiles melted into the curve of his body and let himself cry. If Derek shed a few tears for his own lost family and the grief of the boy beside him, well. No one needed to know.

After a few minutes, Stiles quieted his sobs and hiccupped a few times before pulling away from Derek slightly, so they sat with shoulders touching.

“She must have waited for me to fall asleep, or the call – whatever it was – didn’t come until then. But she didn’t take anything with her, no food, no first aid, nothing. It was like she knew she wouldn’t need it, even though this thing had her on edge for days. In the morning, they told me she had been hit by a drunk driver and was killed instantly. Dad was crazy with grief and kept saying that it hadn’t been an accident, because the impact points on the car and the tire marks on the road suggested something much more than a simple hit and run. But the entire force was busy with a house fire that killed 15 people out in the woods.”

Stiles paused and looked at Derek with red eyes. “The whole house went up in flames and there was nothing left within an hour or two. Eventually it was chalked up to old house and faulty wiring, but we know differently. Don’t we?”

Derek startled when he realized the implications of what Stiles was saying. _His mother knew about the fire but they all still died. Could she have stopped it, prevented it, or saved anyone if she had acted sooner?_ Grief and rage boiled in his stomach and he pushed away from the bed and Stiles and stalked across the room before wheeling around and pointing a finger at the boy still seated on the bed.

“Are you saying your mother _knew_ the fire was going to happen _and yet my family still burned?_ ” Derek choked out, hands clenched into fists at his side. His vision was swimming in red and he fought to keep his anger in check.

“What? No!” Stiles said, the shoe box dropping to the floor as he stood up. “Are you telling me you think my mother would have known about something like that and _kept it to herself_? Are you calling my mother an accomplice to a murder?”

Stiles’ heart rate had spiked again and Derek could hear his labored breathing coming in short, tight breaths. He knew Stiles was close to another panic attack and consciously relaxed his stance and unclenched his fists. Stiles’ body unconsciously picked up on the cues Derek was sending him and he too relaxed, mirroring Derek’s posture.

“She never knew what was going to happen, but sometimes she would suddenly know where she had to be, or what she had to bring,” Stiles said after a long moment of silence while they both stared at each other. “She left the house without any of the stuff she normally would have brought to an accident scene and the coroner’s report suggests she died about an hour after your house had stopped burning. It was another hour before anyone came across her car and called 9-1-1. The only reason anyone knew about your house burning down at the point was because the area smelled like smoke and my mother’s car clearly hadn’t been on fire. So they investigated. And found your house. And my mom’s death was ruled a hit and run, end of story.”

Derek took a deep breath when he realized how much they had both lost that night. He began pacing the room as a means to rid himself of the keyed up energy that was making his hands shake and his stomach turn in knots.

“But that’s not how she died,” Stiles said softly. So softly that Derek wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been a werewolf. He stopped pacing and looked at the boy.

Stiles was looking down at the contents of the shoe box that had spilled across the floor.

“I had a dream, only it wasn’t a dream, maybe more like a memory? Only it wasn’t mine,” he began, scowling to himself as he tried to explain it to Derek. “I was my mom, and I was running to my car away from the smoking ruins of your house, and it smelled like hot, twisted metal, and burning flesh and singed hair and campfire. I was terrified because something was chasing me and I got to the car and started driving home and I felt safe but then suddenly there was an SUV in front of me and I heard a voice taunting my mom and I think I recognized it but I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.” Stiles’ voice was rising and his words were coming out in a rush now. “And the SUV gunned for my mom and she did this crazy Hollywood stunt driver maneuver and I didn’t even know she could drive like that, she was always doing like five under the speed limit and it used to drive me nuts, but she managed to get away from them until they shot out her back window and I jerked the wheel because I was scared and then they shot out the back tire and we crashed and we must have passed out because the next thing I know I’m being blinded by these high beams and this crazy laugh is coming from nowhere.”

Derek walked over to where Stiles was standing frozen, staring at a picture of his parent’s wedding on the floor, breaths coming shorter and more forced. Another panic attack. “Breathe Stiles, just breathe,” he said.

Stiles took a deep breath and exhaled noisily in a rush. “Then the SUV was coming towards us and Mom looked into the review mirror and locked eyes with me – herself? I don’t know how it worked, but she looked right at me and said ‘Run.’ That’s when I woke up.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ chin and gently forced his head up so that he was looking at Derek instead of his mother’s pictures. “It was just a dream Stiles,” he said softly.

Stiles shook his head, jerking his chin out of Derek’s hands. “No, no it wasn’t Derek,” he said forcefully. “She looked right at me and said ‘Run Stiles.’ I woke up with dazzled eyes from the high beams and the taste of blood in my mouth. _I threw up blood Derek._ That’s not a dream. You don’t smell burning flesh, or hear the sounds of breaking glass and twisting metal in just a dream.”

Stiles looked up at Derek when he didn’t reply and noticed the older man had gone stock still and white as a sheet. Realization hit him, and he flushed with guilt and embarrassment. “Well, ok, maybe you do. I’m sorry.”

Derek shook his head slowly as if to break out of the daze he was in and locked eyes with Stiles. “You’re right, though,” he said. “Those aren’t just dreams.” They stood there for a moment, before Stiles dropped down to his knees on the floor in front of Derek. Derek took a hesitant half-step backwards before Stiles started picking up the paper that littered the floor. Blushing slightly, Derek also knelt down and helped him to distract himself from the churning emotions in his stomach. He picked up the wedding picture of the Sheriff and his wife and did a double take at the man with the tight smile standing next to the groom.

“Who’s this?” Derek asked, pointing to the man.

Stiles took the picture from Derek and laid it gently in the box. “That’s Sam and Dean’s dad. He used to work with my dad in L.A., I think. Dad never really told me how he knew him. I never got to meet him until Mom died, he and Dean stopped by for the funeral.”

Something cold shot through Derek’s chest at the information, but he still couldn’t piece everything together after what Stiles had told him about his mom and the night she died. He wanted to tell Stiles what he had found out at the library but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Not until he knew how it all fit together.

Tomorrow he was going to have a chat with the Winchester brothers. He sighed internally, because honestly he’d rather go another round with the Argents than confront a pair of strange Hunters. At least he knew the Argents’ brand of crazy and could plan accordingly.

Stiles had finished putting away his mementoes while Derek was lost in thought but instead of putting the box back in his closet, he placed it on his bedside table and sat on the edge of his bed. Derek shifted uncomfortably as Stiles looked at him with another unreadable expression. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and headed for the window. “Well, I uh, I should go then,” he said.

He heard Stiles’ heart spasm for less than a second before the boy cleared his throat and said shyly, “You could stay, you know. If you wanted to, I mean. I’m sure you have other places to be and don’t want to be here any longer than you have to with me, but um…” he broke off awkwardly before ducking his head. “I’d really like to not be alone right now?”

The words came out quick and garbled and almost like a question, but Derek didn’t respond. He just stared at the boy until Stiles turned bright red and turned away from him.

“Sorry, never mind, forget I asked,” he mumbled as he turned back the sheets on his bed and climbed inside. He laid flat on his back and grabbed the spare pillow and slammed it onto his face. The fabric and stuffing did nothing to conceal his words from Derek’s werewolf hearing. “Nice one there Stilinski, smooth, real smooth. Be a bigger girl as you ask the anti-social werewolf to stay and hold your hand against the nightmares. Good job.”

Derek felt a tightness in his chest as he processed Stiles’ words. Of course Stiles didn’t want him to stay because he wanted Derek’s company – he only wanted someone, anyone to be there for him so he could sleep without the nightmares. He was glad Stiles’ face was covered by the pillow so he couldn’t see how Derek’s face fell at the realization and he almost climbed out the window before remembering how much he had needed Laura there when he was sleeping and vice versa after the fire.

He checked the time on the clock before slowly removing his shoes and his jacket and laying them on the computer chair before padding over softly to the empty side of Stiles’ bed and laying down. Stiles shot straight up in bed as Derek yanked the pillow off his face and stuffed it under his head.

“Wha-?” Stiles said.

Derek simply folded his arms across his stomach and closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight, not after everything that had happened. And especially not laying next the spazzy teenager who was sure to toss and turn in his sleep. But Stiles didn’t need to know that.

“Shut up and go to sleep, Stiles,” he growled and Stiles grumbled a bit as he punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and lay down to sleep.

Surprisingly, Stiles did not toss and turn in his sleep, but instead fell into a dead sleep and the only sounds Derek heard was the steady beating of Stiles heart and his slow, deep breaths. Derek barely had any time to register surprise that he was falling asleep as he drifted off for a few hours before the sun rose.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Derek woke to find that he had, in fact, fallen asleep in Stiles’ bed and while Stiles hadn’t tossed or turned enough to wake him up, he slowly registered the boy’s beating heart pressed up against his chest. He opened his eyes and was surprised to find not only had Stiles wormed his way into Derek’s personal space and had tucked his head underneath his chin, but that his arms – his own, treacherous arms – had wrapped themselves around the boy and were holding him close. He stiffened at the contact and slowly drew his arms away from Stiles and began extricating himself from the other boy.

Stiles stirred in his sleep and tried to follow Derek as he rolled out of bed, but did not wake as Derek gently removed his hand from where it was twisted up in his shirt. As soon as he was fully out of Stiles’ grasp and standing beside the bed, Stiles let out a low whine and rolled over onto his back, arms and legs flailing out in an unconscious mimicry of his waking demeanor. Derek’s breath caught as he looked down at the boy with his arms and legs spread wide and a sleepy, peaceful smile on his face. He caught himself as he unwillingly reached out to stroke the side of Stiles’ face. His wolf whined for the contact, but Derek slowly backed away from the bed and turned to grab his jacket and his shoes.

He paused for a moment halfway out of the bedroom window to look back at the sleeping boy. It was the first time in a very long while that he remembered falling asleep without nightmares, and waking up relaxed and … peaceful. He hadn’t felt peace since the night the fire claimed his pack, his family. But the sight of the unconscious boy in bed seemed to soothe something inside of him, the rage and anger and guilt and he felt the bewilderment rise up to replace the emotions that were his constant companions. Shaking his head against his confusion, he fled to the woods in the early dawn light.

 

///

 

Stiles woke slowly, taking inventory of his body as he came aware of his surroundings. He half expected to have a mammoth headache, or at least an aching in his gut that usually came after panic attacks or throwing up, but he felt fine. Great, actually. Calm and serene like he hadn’t felt in years. He smiled face-down in the pillow and inhaled deeply. It smelled like the forest surrounding the town, and leather, and – _Derek._ Stiles sat straight up as he remembered the events of the night before and how _Derek_ freakin’ _Hale_ had climbed into bed with him, ostensibly to spend the night.

He looked around frantically, trying to locate said Sourwolf, but his gaze landed on the chair that no longer held Derek’s jacket or shoes and the window that was still partially open. He groaned and flopped back down onto the bed. _Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing,_ he thought as he grabbed the pillow and covered his face.

 _There’s no way Derek Hale spent the night. In my bed._ He inhaled again and froze mid-breath as Derek’s scent invaded his nose again and he squirmed uncomfortably as the now-familiar smell did … _things_ … to his body. _Shit_. He spent a few moments mentally freaking out over the fact that apparently he was attracted to Derek Hale and this was his life now. _Of course. I come to the realization that I’m probably bi and then I go and get a crush on the insanely attractive anti-social werewolf who finds it acceptable to slam me against doors._

He thought for a moment how door-slamming and growling could be – and was – very, very hot and wondered briefly about his life choices. _Why does it have to be Derek Hale though? Why couldn’t it have been Danny?_ He snorted into the pillow. Even Danny was way too far out of his league. _Great. Now that I haven’t limited myself to a gender, I still go for the ones I have absolutely no chance with. Awesome._

Sighing, Stiles kicked off the blankets and huffed the pillow that smelled like Derek across his room without looking. He glanced down at his boxers and groaned again before heading to the bathroom for a very cold shower. Because this? Was apparently his life now.

 

///

 

When Stiles emerged from the steam-filled bathroom fifteen minutes later – what, he was still a teenager, you couldn’t blame him for that stuff – it was to the familiar and welcoming smell of pancakes wafting up from the kitchen. Evidently his dad heard him get out of the shower, because he called up to Stiles saying breakfast would be ready in ten. Stiles grabbed a clean pair of clothes and headed down the stairs two at a time to find his dad in front of the stove flipping pancakes and neglecting the bacon that looked fearfully close to cooking as a solid brick of meat. He grabbed a fork and began separating the bacon strips and flipping them over so they cooked evenly as he looked around for the packaging the bacon had come in. His dad caught him looking around and shot him a look.

“It’s low sodium, okay?” he grumbled. “I made sure I picked up the right kind. But I did get maple flavoured, so sue me.”

Stiles laughed and bumped shoulders with his dad. He knew he sounded like a mother hen some days when he lectured his father about his dietary needs, but he just worries about him and doesn’t want to see his dad get sick. It’s the one thing he feels like he has control over in his life – especially since his life started including werewolves and hunters.

His dad finished cooking the last of the pancakes and piles them all onto a plate that he sets in the middle of the kitchen table. Stiles finished up with the bacon and the two of them sit down at the table. He smacks his dad’s hands away from the butter and shoves the butter flavoured maple syrup at him instead. The Sheriff makes a face but proceeds to drizzle some over his stack of pancakes. Stiles smears butter over one pancake and layers strips of bacon over it before covering it with another pancake, and drowning the whole thing in syrup. His mouth waters as he attacks his sandwich of awesome pancake-and-bacon syrupy goodness and his dad makes a face at him over his glass of orange juice.

Stiles smiles at him around a mouthful of food and the Sheriff snorts … and it’s _easy._ Easy in a way that it hadn’t been between them since Scott was bitten and Stiles had to lie to protect everything he loved. His heart clenched and he started to feel nauseous but he pushed down the feeling. _No. Not this time._ This time he was going to enjoy it and pretend like nothing was wrong. He deserved that much.

 

///

 

“Right, okay, thanks Bobby,” Sam said, as he brought the phone down from his ear and closed it. He turned to where his brother was just emerging from the bathroom in a towel. “Bobby confirmed the low level omens we’ve been seeing, but he also knew a little bit about why Dad was here six years ago. Looks like he got a call from a woman named Cassandra and came out here to investigate because he owed her a favour? Bobby said he told Dad that he could call up one of the hunters closer to this area to check it out, but Dad got really weird and said it was something he had to take care of.” Sam turned back to his laptop and pulled up a newspaper article. “And check this out. The day before Dad got here there was a car accident that was ruled a hit and run. Check out the name of the victim.”

Dean pulled on a pair of jeans and strode over to look at the article Sam was pointing at. “Huh. Cassandra Stilinski. Wanna bet that it was the Sheriff’s wife that gave Dad a call?” He said, eyebrows raised. “I wonder why. Something doesn’t sit right with the explanations the Sheriff or Dad gave as to how they knew each other. Click over to her obit, I wanna see if there’s any more hints there.”

Sam clicked over the obituary and the picture of a beautiful woman with oddly familiar eyes took up most of the screen. He scrolled down to the woman’s name and both he and Dean inhaled a sharp breath before turning to stare at each other.

 _Cassandra Ginevra Stilinski, nee Winchester_.

What.

Before either of the boys could vocalize their confusion there was a rustle of wings and Castiel appeared in the motel room, disheveled as always and carrying several take out bags of breakfast. Ignoring the boys, he tilted his head to the side as if he were listening to something only he could hear. He placed the bags on the table next to the laptop and strode purposefully to the door, yanking it open to reveal a young man with dark hair and a leather jacket, arm raised as if he was about to knock on the door. The look of surprise on his face was replaced by a scowl and before the Winchesters or Castiel could say anything he stalked into the room and slammed the door behind him.

“So you didn’t know about Stiles and his family either,” the man said, more of statement than a question.

Dean had just about overcome his shock at the past few minutes and rose menacingly to stare down at the stranger invading their hotel room. “Who the hell are you?” he said, voice low and dangerous.

Castiel sighed and shot Dean a look – _seriously, he needed to stop picking up mannerisms from the hunters because it was all too bizarre to see Sammy’s best bitch face on an Angel of the Lord_ – and answered for the stranger.

“This is the _loup garou_ that followed you here from the Sheriff’s house yesterday. His name is Derek Hale.”

 

///

 

Stiles finished loading the dishwasher as his dad left the house, headed to the station. He was full of delicious breakfast but his mind was buzzing anxiously. He was torn between lapsing into a food coma or running suicides to dispel some of the nervous energy that was boiling up inside of him. He sat on the couch for approximately 2.06 seconds before bouncing up and heading to the door, pausing to grab his red hoodie and his car keys before hopping in the Jeep and backing out of the driveway.

He had no destination in mind when he left his house, but was unsurprised to realize he was headed towards the Hale house. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he passed by the section of road he now knew his mother died on, but straightened his shoulders and continued driving, turning on to the nearly hidden driveway that would take him to the ruins where Derek used to live with his family. He needed to walk off the awful tension in his stomach, feel the fresh air on his face, as suddenly the Jeep seemed small and claustrophobic like never before. Something was guiding him, pulling him towards the house and even with the feeling of apprehension building along the lines of his shoulders and racing up and down his spine he couldn’t turn back or stop the car.

He kept going until the blackened ruins of the house pull into view and he parked the Jeep and got out. Now the tension in his gut threatened to take over his entire body, along with the apprehension and feeling that he’s being watched, like a cold finger tracing down the length of his neck. He rolled his shoulders and glanced around but didn’t see anything or anyone. Birds were still chirping around him and he tookthat as a good sign as he stepped towards the house. He hadno idea what to do or why he’s there anymore because the urge to run off his nervous energy had been replaced with the anticipation that comes during a thunderstorm after a spectacular flash of lightning when he and his mother would count the seconds before the crash of thunder to measure how far away the storm was.

He can’t move, just stands in front of the decrepit house feeling strung up like a bow, quivering with unreleased energy. The sound of snapping branch had his head whipping to the right to see what was approaching but there was nothing in the woods. Belatedly, he realized the birds have stopped chirping. The sound comes again but he recognizes it not as a branch breaking but of fire crackling, popping as the sap is heated by the flames. He looked back to the house and was horrified by the sight before him.

Flames consumed the now-solid and maintained two-storey building. The fire had just begun to ravage the siding covering the house, having escaped from the shattered windows on the first floor. Stiles dropped to his knees and tried to cover his ears as he realizes underneath the roar of the fire are the sounds of the living, trapped inside the house as it burns. His lungs filled with black smoke and he choked, coughing out the ash as his stomach churned, threatening to lose his breakfast. He didn’t even realize he was crying, as he watches the Hale house burn, unable to move or cry out or tear his eyes away from the sight.

It’s a memory, he knows this, knows because he has been inside the skeletal remains of the house, knows because his mother and most of the Hale family died six years ago and there was nothing anybody could do about it – _wasn’t there?_ – and this was all a memory. He willed himself back to the present, to forget the smell of fire and burning flesh, to inhale the clean fresh scent of the forest and not the ash of a ruined past.

With a gasp, he feels the cool touch of leaves on his forehead and opened his eyes to find himself hunched over the forest floor, handfuls of leaves and dirt in each of his clenched-tight fists and he sits back up slowly, controlling his breathing. The horrible feeling of anticipation is still in his stomach and the air tingles where it makes contact with his skin, almost like the feeling of static electricity.

A twig snaps behind him and this time he knows it’s not a hallucination. But he sits, frozen and unable to turn around, as an eerily familiar voice speaks.

“Hey there, little Red.” And Stiles is brought back to the moments before his mother’s death and the chilling voice that mocked her before killing her.

There is an explosion like thunder before everything goes black.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

“A _werewolf_?”

Dean dove for the duffle bag at the foot of the bed that contained most of his hunter’s arsenal, including a silver dagger. He grabbed the knife out of the bag and spun into a crouch facing the intruder.

Only to find his view blocked by a frowning angel.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean could have sworn he heard _disappointment_ in his voice. This was confirmed by the angel’s next words. “Don’t be rude. Derek is our guest.”

Dean snorted in disbelief as Sam watched the exchange with eyes as wide as saucers. “Cas, man, you know we’re hunters, right? And we hunt things that are supernatural. Werewolf is just about as unnatural as things get.”

“For the last time Dean, he is not a werewolf,” Cas said impatiently. “He is a _loup garou_.”

The being in question turned incredulous eyes on the angel. It looked like this was brand new information for him too.

“Oh!” Sam said from where he was now seated in front of the laptop. “I think I remember reading about those. I didn’t think much of the legend because I’d always assumed that _loup garou_ and werewolves were the same but if Cas means what I think he means, then things are making a lot more sense.”

Sam looked up to see not one but two pairs of ‘quit being a smug smartass and just tell me what’s going on in plain English’ looks. Dean and the werew-, Derek, he corrected mentally. Dean and Derek wore almost identical looks and Sam coughed and ducked his head to hide his smile.

“Legend has it, that when Eve first created the monsters that we know as werewolves and vampires there was an angel who sought to give humans a fair advantage against the supernatural,” Sam started, typing furiously at his laptop. “He, along with some other likeminded angels, created the Nephilim – the offspring of angels and righteous humans. These hybrids looked and behaved like humans but aged slower, moved faster and were much stronger than average humans. They were supposed to stand guard against Eve’s creations and protect God’s creations. The angels couldn’t do it, maybe because they weren’t given the order to, maybe because they just didn’t care I don’t know.

"But this angel also created the divine counterparts to Eve’s monsters: the _loup_ _garou_ , a shapeshifter who not only takes on the shape of a wolf but also the behaviour and lifestyle of one, and worships the moon as part of its change. The _draugr_ were members of the dead who were reanimated and needed to drink blood to survive, but they were all people who had sworn to protect while they were living and were able to continue to do their jobs long after they died. They also drank animal blood, although sometimes people would reward the _draugr_ with some of their own blood as a thank you for saving them. The list goes on and on; for every bad thing Eve created, the angel made its counterpart. Over the centuries though, the original story has been lost and the two terms have become synonymous with the evil guys.”

Sam spun the laptop around to face Dean and Derek, who were staring at him open mouthed as he told the legend and Dean took a sharp breath as he read the information on the computer screen. Cas showed no reaction to the story or the web page he had brought up, confirming Sam’s suspicions that the angel knew who it was that had created the Nephilim and the others.

Dean seemed to recover his voice first as Derek processed what had to be new information about his heritage.

“So, what? Are you telling me _Gabriel_ is the one responsible for creating a hybrid holy army against Eve?” he asked incredulously. “Of course he is, what am I saying. The vampires probably sparkle in the daylight and you probably can’t keep your shirt on to save your life.” He turned and said the last bit pointedly at Derek.

Sam raised his eyebrows and began to ask about his brother’s movie choices, when Castiel interrupted.

“It is true that Gabriel is the one who created the Nephilim, along with the _loup garou_ and _draugr_ , it was his last act as an archangel before he disappeared,” the angel said solemnly. “Coincidently, by infusing humans with angelic Grace to create the Nephilim, he created a way for angels to inhabit human vessels without damaging the human or endangering the angel. This allowed him to select a human to permanently inhabit during his ‘angel protection program.’” The air quotes looked strange on Castiel as he mimicked his brother’s gesture. “I’m sure he would tell you that was quite an accident,” he finished dryly.

Sam gaped at the angel. “So all vessels are directly descended from the Nephilim? So that would mean…”

“Yes Sam,” Castiel cut in. “Both you and Dean, your whole family in fact, are descendants of the Nephilim. Most Hunter families are, like your mother and the rest of the Campbells. They may not know why, but many of them are suited for the job of dispatching evil. Because that was what they were created for.”

“But wouldn’t the, I don’t know, blood or gene that carries the Nephilim traits have died out by now? It’s been centuries,” Sam asked.

“Angelic Grace isn’t something that fades over time. Diluted yes, but the trait is still as strong as it was when Gabriel first made the Nephilim,” Cas said. “Same with his other creations. Derek and his family have lived peacefully alongside humans for centuries and most have never harmed a soul.”

“Most, but not all. They’re still monsters Cas,” Dean said angrily. “They still harm humans and it’s our job to kill anything that does.”

At Dean’s outburst, Derek snarled as his fangs came out and his eyes turned electric blue against the threat. “My family has never harmed an innocent, and neither have I. We were the victims the day a Hunter decided to burn my entire family alive in our home. I have never hurt anybody, but I promise you I will make an exception when I find her.”

Castiel stepped in front of Derek as Dean made to raise his gun. “Dean,” he said. “There are some who do go rogue, just as some humans commit atrocious crimes against others. Would you consider the whole of humanity to be evil based on a few bad people? Just as not all humans are good, not all ‘monsters’ as you call them, are bad.”

Dean lowered his gun grudgingly. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I don’t like it.”

The _loup garou_ snorted. “Me neither, but like it or not, you need my help. And I need answers.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken established (and implied) canon from SPN, Teen Wolf and Christianity as a whole and thrown it completely out the window and let's assume that the boys know about Eve, and Sam has a soul. Because... well because.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Sheriff Stilinski sighed loudly and ran his hands through his hair. The mountain of paperwork he had been working on all morning seemed to have multiplied when he turned his back. He could have sworn he was almost done but there it loomed in front of him, promising hours of more tedious reports to read and duplicates to make. He sighed again, and then once more for good measure.

His secretary Maria overheard him and looked over at his desk with a raised brow. Everybody in the station who knew the Sheriff and his son knew that Stiles took after his mother in many things, but some traits – like a lack of patience – came directly from his father. Although the Sheriff was very good at hiding his impatience on most days, today wasn’t one of them.

“Why don’t you make yourself scarce for a little bit, Sheriff,” Maria said, rolling her eyes at him. “A bit of fresh air might be good for you.”

The Sheriff threw down his pen and stood up, stretching the tension from his shoulders and walked out of his office.

“And for the rest of us,” Maria added under her breath, loud enough for him to hear.

“Alright, I can take a hint,” he said, chuckling. “Any calls come in?”

“There’s a call we got about a suspicious looking vehicle out by the old Hale place,” she said, looking down at the log book. “And Mrs Collins called again about her dog going missing.”

The Sheriff nodded as he strapped his gun into his holster. “Ok, I’ll head over to the Hale place and keep my eyes open for Toto.”

And with that he headed out towards his cruiser.

 

///

 

Stiles opened his eyes with a groan. There was a pounding in his head that matched the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat and a stale metallic taste in his mouth. He tried to turn his head to the side to survey his surroundings but the movement made him dizzy and his stomach lurched. He gagged, and held himself very still as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Wherever he was was very dark and the sounds of dripping water on concrete echoed throughout the space. Stiles felt a cool draft caress his face and he inhaled slowly, trying to get his wits about him.

When he felt better enough to try to move again, and the pounding in his head had receded to a dull ache, he tried to lift his arms to push himself into a more comfortable position but found that they were tied to the arms of the chair he was sitting in. He slowly tilted his head to the side and saw a dim shaft of light piercing through a grimy window placed high up in the wall. To the other side was a heavy looking door, the kind that bolted from the outside and turned the room he was being held captive in look more like a dungeon or a jail cell than he was comfortable with.

He tried calling out for help, but his voice was hoarse and clearing his throat brought a sharp edge to the throbbing in his head.

It looked like he had no other option but to sit and wait for someone to rescue him.

Stiles snorted, and then promptly let out a low moan as the noise sent a spike of pain lancing through his head. _Yeah, sit and wait to be rescued. By who? Dad’s working a double and Scott’s probably too busy with Allison to even notice I’m gone. That leaves Derek… Who probably wouldn’t care either way,_ he thought to himself. _He probably waited for me to fall asleep last night and then skipped town so he wouldn’t have to deal with an embarrassing teenager crushing on him. He’s probably halfway across America by now._

With a sigh, Stiles shifted as much as his bonds would let him and focused on flexing his wrists back and forth in an effort to fray the rope against the old splintered wood.

 

///

 

“So you two are Stiles’ cousins?” Derek asked. “And you had no idea about it. How does that even work?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply but shut it when Castiel shot him a look and Sam sighed loudly.

“It’s because our Dad never told us about his family,” Sam said with frustration. “He got into the hunting business bent on revenge after a demon killed our mother. Mom came from a hunting family but gave up the life and never told Dad about it. We knew Dad had a brother who died when they were kids named Michael and that’s where Dean’s middle name came from, but Mom was an only child. Dad never mentioned anyone else so I guess we assumed that Michael was his only sibling.”

“But you think that Stiles’ mom was his sister and what? They just never spoke to each other in all the years since your mom died?” Derek said incredulously.

“Listen here wolfman,” Dean said angrily, rising to his feet. “Just because our family wasn’t anything like your little wolf pack, sharing everything and howling together under the moon, doesn’t make you better than us.”

Derek’s eyes glowed briefly, and his hands twitched as he fought to keep his anger under control. “No,” he said tightly. “I’m just having a hard time understanding how two Hunters, whose job it is to pick up on the tiniest pieces of detail and piece together the big picture, failed to realize just how much Stiles looks like Sam.”

The Winchester brothers looked at each other dumbfounded while Castiel snorted, an action that seemed incongruous from an angel but was strangely suited to him. _And frankly, it’s adorable,_ Dean thought before his eyes widened and he stared ahead in horror at his use of the word adorable, especially in describing Cas. _What the hell?_

“The physical similarities to Sam are quite remarkable, but I would say, judging on what the Sheriff has said, that Stiles seems to take after Dean in his penchant for getting into trouble,” Cas said drily.

“Yeah, well, he’s a nerd like Sammy,” Dean retorted.

Sam just rolled his eyes.

 

///

 

The drive to the Hale house was quiet and the Sheriff rolled the windows down to enjoy the fresh air after being cramped in the office for so long. He drove at a lazy pace, knowing there wasn’t much he would find at the Hale’s old place when he got there. Generally, when a suspicious call came in, it turned out to be a couple of teenagers breaking into the old wreck on a dare or a couple making out in the woods. Once it had been skinny-looking photographer, wearing an out-of-season scarf and black framed glasses the Sheriff suspected didn’t even have lenses, who had been taking pictures of abandoned houses for some art project.

As the Sheriff neared the turn-off into the woods, he slowed his cruiser and pulled over on the side of the road. Looking around, he crossed the road and took a few steps into the forest. After years, he quickly found the tree that had been marked more than 17 years prior – a faded heart adorned one of the lower branches of an old birch tree, and below it a set of completed dates more recently traced into the bark. He placed a palm on the tree and closed his eyes.

“Cassie, I really need you,” he said quietly. “You’d know what to do about Stiles. He won’t talk to me anymore and I feel like he’s hiding things from me. Important things.”

He let out a huff of a laugh.

“Well, I guess I can’t complain too much about him keeping important things from me. After all, I’m pretty sure he’d think me keeping things like demons from him pretty damn important.”

He paused and took a deep breath. “The boys are in town again. I asked them to come because I’m pretty sure that thing that took you away from me is back. And I’ll be _damned_ if it takes our son away too.”

A soft breeze picked up and leaves from nearby trees swirled around the Sheriff who stood in the middle of the floral cyclone. He felt the wind caress his cheek and a feeling of peace and determination stole over him. _It’s almost over,_ it seemed to say.

He closed his eyes again and bid his wife goodbye before he turned around and walked back to his cruiser without a backwards glance.

The leaves formed a shape that seemed to reach out to him as he walked away, but then the wind died and it was gone.

 

 _Not many people knew about the secret marker the Sheriff had made for his wife just meters away from the place where she died, not even Stiles. Even fewer knew the significance of the spot, or the tree where their names were carved. It was in the clearing marked by the birch tree that Cassie had told him that she was pregnant with Stiles. They had been walking around the forest shortly after moving to Beacon Hills and had stopped to have a picnic underneath the tree. Although his wounded shoulder was still healing, he had been carving their names in the tree when Cassie came up behind him, took the knife and added a_ +1 _underneath. Despite his injuries, he had picked her up in his arms and twirled her around the clearing._

 

He continued towards the Hale house, memories of happier times clouding his thoughts as he parked out front and exited the vehicle.

Distracted, he noticed several different tire tracks and the scuff marks from a couple pairs of feet but couldn’t discern which direction they were headed in. He walked towards the front door – which had been nailed shut when the county had declared the property unsafe – but was now hanging ajar. Entering the scarred ruins of the house, the Sheriff noted that there appeared to be fresh tracks in the dust leading towards the living room and up the stairs. A brief glance into the living room showed him that the empty room held no clues about the intrusion, so he headed up the dilapidated stairs, carefully skirting the massive hole in the centre, treading carefully in case a board decided to break under his weight.  Once on the second floor, he cautiously began checking through bedrooms. He knew from the coroner’s report that the majority of the family had been trapped in the basement when the house caught fire – which, while suspicious, did not warrant any further investigation into the matter – but he still averted his eyes from the large stains on the floor of one of the bedrooms.

It was in the final bedroom at the end of the hall that the Sheriff found what he was looking for: a pile of blankets in the corner and a few empty coffee cups and takeout bags scattered around. It was clear that someone was living in the old house, but the question was who? Who would dare try to live in a burnt out shell of a building where so many innocent people died?

The Sheriff stood above the mess on the floor and tried to find more clues about the squatter but he found nothing to point him in the right direction. A glance out the window into the backyard didn’t reveal any more answers and he turned to leave, when something caught the corner of his eye. An errant beam of sunlight glinted off something metallic hidden in the leaves in the backyard. He headed downstairs carefully and walked around the house to the backyard, eyes scanning the ground to find the object, growing frustrated when he couldn’t locate it again.

Suddenly, there it was again – sunlight glinting off the metal, revealing itself as a set of keys.

The Sheriff bent down to pick them up and nearly dropped them when he saw what they were for.

Car keys to a Jeep.

Stiles’ Jeep.

 

///

 

Stiles paused in his attempt to fray his bindings, and listened closely. The repetitious _drip, drip_ of water somewhere had nearly driven him crazy at first, but now he could tune it out and he struggled to hear beyond the confines of his concrete cell.

Nothing.

He heard nothing.

Maybe the dripping water _had_ driven him crazy.

Just as he was about to start rubbing the ropes against the edge of his chair again, the sound came again. Faint, but clear as day.

His name.

Someone was calling his name. Stiles was gobsmacked. Not only had someone noticed he was missing, but they were actually actively looking for him before 24 hours had passed. It was more than he ever hoped for.

Just as he opened his mouth to yell his location (although he still wasn’t quite sure what that was, exactly, he did have a horrifying idea of where he was being held) the door to the room swung open on oiled hinges and a large cocker spaniel rushed in to lick his face.

“ _Toto?!_ ” he gasped. _Had it been old Mrs. Collins who had found him? Not good, not good at all._ “Mrs. Collins, quick call 911 and get out of here, it’s not-” The words died in his throat as he saw who walked through the door.

“It’s not what? Safe?” Kate Argent purred as she sauntered into the room. The dog cowered behind Stiles’ chair. “It’s just lil old me, what’s there to be afraid of?”

She blinked and her eyes were as black as night. Toto began growling and bearing his teeth at her and she tilted back her head and laughed.

“C’mere, mutt,” she said as she lunged towards Toto and grabbed him by the collar. With one swift motion, she pulled a wicked looking dagger from the holster at her hip and moved to draw it across the dog’s throat. Stiles closed his eyes tight and he heard Toto give a high pitched whine as Kate whispered something he couldn’t make out. A rush of wind invaded the small room briefly and a red glow pushed itself past his eyelids. He gasped as he opened his eyes and saw Kate hunched over the dog’s body, while the red glow passed from Toto into a pendant hanging from her neck.

And _seriously?_ First _werewolves_ andnow _soul-sucking demons?_

“I seriously do not get paid enough for this,” Stiles muttered to himself before turning to the demon on the other side of the room. “Hey, psycho! I’m not much into voyeurism, so this whole show is lost on me. Why don’t you say your evil monologue, detailing your whole plan, so that when my dad comes busting through that door to save me and kick your ass, everyone will know just how much of a nut job you truly are.”

Stiles’ sense of self-preservation winced internally at his words. His bravado, as per usual, not only covered up his sheer terror at the situation he found himself in, but also the quiet sound of him struggling harder against his bonds. He knew he probably shouldn’t provoke the supernatural creature who clearly had no qualms about killing things, but never one to listen to that little voice inside his head, he continued.

“So killing small, helpless animals is your thing, is it?” he said. “You know the next step after that is holding innocents captive in basements and going on a serial killer rampage.”

The demon turned to Stiles and a slow, evil grin spread across its face. Flicking its eyes back to human, the monster with Kate Argent’s face laughed and said, “Looks like I can cross those both off my list already.”

The blood in his veins turned to ice water as he recognized the laugh and all the little pieces fell into place. If his hands had been untied, he would have facepalmed himself for stupidly saying anything at all.

But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t, so he went with the next best thing: keep talking.

“I thought I recognized your voice. You were the one who trapped the Hales and burnt their house down,” he said angrily. “You were the one who killed my mom.”

Kate’s eyes flicked back to black. “Interesting, so you’re the Seer’s son… It looks like the Gift has been passed down to you as well. Even better. It seems I shall wrap up all my loose ends tonight – the last of the Hales, the son of the Seer who thwarted me and those damned Winchesters.”

Stiles’ head was reeling from the information the demon had given him. _What the hell does ‘Seer’ mean? Is that why Mom knew all that stuff before it happened? Is that why I knew what happened that night? And what does she want with Derek and Sam and Dean?_

“Derek, ok, I get what you want with him – last of his family and all that jazz. I take it you were the one who cut his sister in half?” A glance at Kate confirmed his suspicion. “Yep, thought so. So him – I get. But what do you want with Sam and Dean? And what the hell is up with you saying my mom ‘thwarted’ you? What is this, a Scooby-Doo mystery?”

The demon rose to her feet and sauntered over to Stiles’ chair. Eyes flicking back to normal, she swung a leg over his knees and sat down in his lap. Kate grinned wickedly as she bent close and ran her tongue up his neck. Stiles gasped in shock and tried to shy away from the contact but the chair prevented him from leaning very far. Kate laughed and ran her hands slowly up and down Stiles’ chest and he felt his heartbeat ratchet up a couple notches and his breathing started coming in short, angry gasps. _Now is so not the time for a panic attack Stilinski, get it together._ He took a deep breath and tried to calm down as Kate slid deeper into his lap, pressing herself up against him and leaning in to kiss his neck.

“What’s the matter, handsome?” she purred into his ear. “I thought you liked monsters in your bed.”

 

///

 

The Sheriff took a deep breath and called his son’s name one more time before heading to his cruiser. He searched for his phone and dialed Stiles’ cell phone.

It rang several times before it went to voicemail. Tersely, he left a message instructing his son to call him immediately.

He  sighed as he dialed Scott’s home phone number. Melissa answered and told him that she hadn’t seen Stiles at all that day, but that Scott had left early that morning and maybe they were together?

The Sheriff thanked her and hung up, immediately dialing Scott’s cell phone as he put the cruiser into gear and turned around in the yard, heading for the road. _There’s no need to panic, one’s an incident and two’s a coincidence. Nothing’s wrong._

Scott picked up on the fifth ring with a sleepy ‘hello?’ and the Sheriff knew his son wasn’t with him.

“No, sorry Sheriff, I actually haven’t heard from Stiles today,” Scott said. “I’ve been hanging out with A- another friend.”

“Thanks Scott. If you see or hear from him, tell him I’m looking for him,” the Sheriff said, hanging up as he headed towards his house.

 _Three’s a pattern._ A lump settled itself in his stomach, as he considered the implications.

 _There’s something on the loose in this town, tearing up animals and people, and my nephews who hunt supernatural things are in town investigating possible demon omens._ He pulled up in front of his house and stared at the empty driveway.

_And now my son is missing._

 

///

A white hot rage clouded his vision and with a wrench, he snapped the frayed rope holding his hands down and shoved the demon bitch off his lap.

“What do you want with them?!” Stiles demanded. Only ‘them’ came out as ‘him’ and Stiles found himself not caring about the implications the difference meant.

Kate looked up at him from where she was still sprawled on the floor – blocking the only exit. Great.

With a smile, she flicked her hand and Stiles felt himself go flying backwards, hitting the concrete wall and being held immobilized six inches off the ground.

Bottomless black eyes found his again and she laughed. _Seriously, what is it with evil villains and their laughing? It doesn’t do anything to prove their mental stability,_ Stiles thought idly to himself.

“What do I want with him? The same thing I wanted with his whole family – their souls, or whatever life force passes itself off as one in werewolves. I’m going to open a gateway, and I need a lot of energy to do it,” she said rising from the floor. “And from that gateway will emerge a most terrifying creature and he will do _my_ bidding, and when we capture the infamous Winchesters the Master will reward us. _You_ will only serve as petty retribution because your mother thwarted my attempts to collect the souls of those trapped in this house when we set it on fire.”

“But why them?” he asked, desperately trying to free himself to no avail. “Why not find another family of wolves?”

The demon shrugged. “Sentimentality, I guess. When I took over this body, she was already trying to learn as much about the wolves as she could. So much potential, she had. I just gave her a little nudge in the right direction.”

“How?”

The word was out of his mouth faster than he had time to think and not surprising to him – his brain-mouth filter was faulty on the best of days – but the glint in the demon’s eyes sent a shiver down his spine, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know.

With a smirk on its face, the demon told Stiles everything – in incredible detail – and Stiles tried very hard not to throw up.

 

///

 

The Sheriff scrubbed a hand over his face and turned his cruiser around, heading for the motel at the edge of town he had directed the Winchesters to two nights before. He asked the clerk at the front desk which room they were in and headed down the side of the motel before stopping at the right door. He raised his hand to knock but suddenly the door wasn’t there anymore. Instead, a tall man with dark hair and a trenchcoat stood in its place.

“Sheriff, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I’ve heard much about you. I’m assuming you’re here to discuss the demon.”

“Cas,” came a voice from inside the room. “I told you: you answer the door _after_ they knock and then invite them in before you bombard them with information.”

Suddenly the door opened wider and Dean was standing next to the strange man in the doorway.

“Sheriff,” he said with a tight smile on his face. “Or should I just call you ‘Uncle’?”

The Sheriff let out a sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward. “John never told you.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was acknowledgment of what the Sheriff knew about their father.

“Call me Jonathan and it seems like we have a lot to talk about,” he began, shouldering past them into the room, nodding to Sam who was seated in front of his laptop. “Like who is the angel who answered your door and what else do you know about your family? But first of all, where the hell is my son?”

The room erupted into questions as the Sheriff’s tirade finished.

“How did you about-” Cas and Dean both started to say.

“What else is there to know about our family?” Sam asked.

“What about Stiles?” a voice from the back of the room growled.

The four men stopped and turned as one to Derek, who had been summarily forgotten in the Sheriff’s arrival. His eyes were electric blue and his fangs and claws gave him away as the supernatural being he was. _There is no more hiding it from the Sheriff_ , he thought to himself, _that will make it easier for Stiles_. His heart pounded in his chest as his mind processed the Sheriff’s words. _Where the hell is my son._ He growled.

The Sheriff slowly reached for his holster as he spoke. “Derek Hale. What the hell are you and what do you know about my son?”

Derek shook his head and forced the transformation back, although his eyes remained bright blue. “How long has he been missing?”

Jonathan made an impatient noise. “Son, I’m the one asking the questions here. And somebody better start giving me answers pretty damn soon.”

Derek took a deep breath. “I’m a werewolf,” he said, pausing. “Sir.”

“ _Loup garou_ ,” Castiel corrected. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Okay,” the Sheriff said, re-holstering his gun. “Okay. So we’ve got a demon in town,” he turned to Sam and Dean, “and a werewolf in town,” he turned to Derek, “and an angel.” He turned to Castiel. “Anything else I should know about?”

The first three just stood there gaping, while Castiel tilted his head, thinking for a moment.

“Well, aside from the family of Hunters that moved in a couple months ago, the only other thing you should know about is the seven-year-old telekinetic across town, but I don’t think she’ll be a problem any time soon.”

Jonathan gaped at the angel, and then sat down heavily in the chair next to Sam. “Well. That was a lot to process all at once. Someone want to start explaining just what the hell is going on here?”

Sam swung the laptop around to face the Sheriff and he began explaining the lore about the Nephilim and the ‘angelic monsters,’ as Dean had taken to calling them.

“So all Hunters are descendants of angel-human hybrids and werewolves do exist?” he asked after Sam had finished.

“Among other… things,” Sam said awkwardly. “There’s a lot out there to take in at once.”

“So how does the demon factor in to all of this?” he asked turning to Dean and Castiel.

“We’re not quite sure,” Dean said. “But we’re working on it. How did you know Cas here was an angel?”

“His aura,” the Sheriff said simply.

Dean turned to squint at the angel. “His aura?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid, I could tell what kind of person someone was based on the colour of their aura. Given the fact that I haven’t been able to do that for years and how _Castiel_ ,” – he rolled the name around like it was a question, glancing at the angel to make sure he had pronounced it right – “given how Castiel’s aura forms wings, it wasn’t a hard conclusion to come to.”

“You can see my wings?” Cas said, unsure.

The Sheriff nodded and turned to Derek. “So you’re a werewolf?”

“ _Loup garou_ ,” Castiel muttered under his breath, clearly bouncing back quickly from the shock of finding out his wings were visible to the Sheriff.

“Yes, my whole family was, with a few exceptions,” Derek said, pausing before quietly continuing. “That’s why Kate Argent locked them inside my home before lighting it on fire.”

A brief look of shock passed over the Sheriff’s face before he schooled his expression. “I take it she was a Hunter?” At Derek’s nod, he turned to the Winchester brothers. “Is that how you conduct your business too?”

“Lighting a houseful of innocent people on fire? No,” Sam said. “We hunt the monsters that are attacking people and put them down, but we don’t go after … _people_ … who haven’t done anything.”

“Although, to be fair, we just found out there are _good_ monsters out there,” Dean started to say, but a look from Sam had him quickly backtracking. “But based off the murders committed by the monsters we’ve taken down, I think it’s safe to say they weren’t innocent.”

“Something tells me, as a member of law enforcement, I don’t want to know what ‘taking out’ consists of,” the Sheriff said wryly.

Dean had the good grace to look abashed.

“So those animal attacks, were they committed by the demon?” the Sheriff asked the men gathered in the room.

“No,” Derek said, shaking his head. “My sister came here to investigate the animal attacks before she was murdered. She thought there might be another werewolf moving into the territory but I never found out from her what she found. Whatever killed her wasn’t another wolf though, the smell was all wrong.”

“How do we know if it was the demon that killed her?” Jonathan asked.

“Well it’s too late to check now, but usually if there’s sulfur at the scene, it’s a good indicator that you’re dealing with demons,” Sam said. “After we get this mess sorted out, Dean and I will give you a crash course on demons.”

“And any other supernatural things that might come your way,” Dean said, with a suspicious glance at Derek.

Derek caught the look, and snorted. “Don’t think you have the right information in that book of yours to take care of my kind, Hunter. My family used to have a set of genuine silverware we’d use for special occasions, silver bullets won’t put me down.”

While Dean filed that information away for another time, Castiel cocked his head to the side and said, “We’re about to have another visitor, Dean.”

Sure enough the door to the motel room crashed open and Scott McCall tumbled in, fully wolfed out and growling at the strange men surrounding Derek.

“Scott?” the Sheriff said, startling Scott, who turned around and looked at the man with wide eyes.

Concentration on the perceived threat broken, Scott’s features returned to normal. “Um, hi Mr. Stilinski,” he said with an awkward wave.

Jonathan looked up at the ceiling briefly before turning back to Scott.

“Well this explains **so** much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Mary Campbell as an only child because I don't think the creepy, creepy cousins we meet were introduced with _how_ exactly they were related to Samuel and the brothers.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have something I wrote two months ago and forgot to post, because my brain has failed me and I cannot write anything new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY. REAL LIFE MAN. IT SUCKS.

“Um,” Scott said, looking from the Sheriff to Derek and at the Winchesters. “Um.”

Derek rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to answer for Scott but the Sheriff – well versed in how to deal with Scott’s idiosyncrasies – cut him off.

“Let me guess Scott, you and Derek over here are the reason why my son has been sneaking out of the house and lying to me about what he’s been getting up to,” he said, continuing at Scott’s nod. “Did Derek turn you?”

“No sir,” Scott replied. “I have no idea who bit me.”

“It wasn’t my sister, Scott and Stiles were out in the woods the night your department was searching the woods for the other half of her body,” Derek answered. “But I don’t have any leads on who it could have been.”

The Sheriff sighed. “Ok, while alarming that’s not exactly our priority right now. We’ll figure it out after we find Stiles. Scott, how did you find us here?”

“I started looking for Stiles after you called me,” he said sheepishly. “I followed his scent here and thought he was in trouble because I didn’t recognize their scents.” He nodded towards the Winchesters. “But… I guess it wasn’t Stiles’ scent I was following, it was yours. I’m still not very good at this.”

Dean snorted but was quickly silenced by a look from Castiel. Scott glared at him.

“It’s harder than you’d think, ok?” he said angrily. “And Stiles and his dad smell alike because they’re family.”

“And to be fair, it seems like my nephew hasn’t been the most forthcoming with information,” a new voice drawled from the doorway. 

Three guns and two pairs of glowing eyes trained themselves on the stranger lounging in the doorway, looking for all the world completely unfazed at the welcome he was receiving. Only Castiel looked unsurprised to see him there. 

“You told me to wait until they knocked to answer the door,” he said in response to Dean’s glare. “He didn’t knock.”

“My apologies for the confusion Angel, but I do love to make an entrance,” the man said. “Also, I felt it would be more expedient if I just cut through all the questions you were throwing around and got straight to the point.”

“Yeah well, why don’t you get straight to the point of telling us who you are and what you’re doing here?” Dean said angrily.

The man took a step through the doorway and the light from the room caught the shiny pink of healing burns covering most of the man’s face. The Sheriff and Scott gasped while Sam’s mouth fell open. The gears were turning in their minds but Derek was the first one to speak.

“Peter?” he said, eyes completely normal for the first time since the Sheriff had entered the room. He stretched a hand out towards the man, as if to make sure what he was seeing was real. “But, how? You were in a coma…”

“Yes, about that. Having my Alpha back in close range accelerated the healing process I guess,” Peter said. “I was always healing, very slowly, cell by cell. But when Laura came back to town, the strength of the Alpha sped up the process and I was able to wake up. Unfortunately, with the shock of being suddenly conscious after that long coupled with the pain of still healing the burns and trauma I received, my human faculties shut down and the wolf took over. When Laura died, and I became Alpha suddenly, I lost myself entirely. That’s why I bit Scott. I didn’t mean it, truly. But having a pack again anchored me and I was able to return to sanity.” He turned to Scott. “Honestly, you were an accident. If anything, I wanted to turn the delicious smelling human who was in your company that night. The one I believe you are all looking for? Stiles, is his name?”

The sound of a gun being cocked directed the room’s attention back to Johnathan. 

“Stay away from my son,” he said in a level voice. “Victim or not, I will empty my clip into you if I hear you’ve done anything to harm him.”

Derek twitched, arm still in the air, and his eyes flicked back and forth between the men as if trying to decide who would need protecting if the situation escalated. Scott merely stared at the both of them open-mouthed.

Peter chuckled darkly, and his eyes flashed red for a moment. “Easy there Sheriff, no harm will come to your son from me, although I think he’d make a great addition to my pack. Besides, I doubt you have the right bullets in your gun to kill me.”

“Maybe not,” the Sheriff conceded, not lowering his gun. “But it would still hurt like hell.” 

Peter grinned widely. “Ooooh, you Stilinskis are a feisty bunch. I do like feisty.”

“Alright, alright, enough,” Dean said. “Family reunion love fest aside, you still haven’t told us how you found us here.”

“Oh my boy, that’s simple,” Peter said, turned a smirk towards the elder Hunter. “I merely followed the sounds of incompetence.”

This time it was Dean’s turn to growl, lack of fangs notwithstanding, at the intruder and Derek stepped neatly in between them to prevent the situation from escalating. Turning his back on Dean as a show of faith, he confronted his uncle with a pleading look. 

“Can you tell us what’s going on? Where’s Stiles? We need to find him.”

Peter sighed and gestured for everyone to relax. He took a seat at the table and exhaled deeply.

“This is what I know. Someone created those animal attacks in the woods in order to lure Laura back home to investigate. And when she did, she was attacked and her soul was harvested for a ritual. She died and the Alpha power went to me. After I regained my sanity, I spent my time trying to hunt down whoever did that to her and I had nearly figured it out when you showed up, Derek.”

“But why not reveal yourself to Derek then? Why wait until now?” Scott interrupted.

The group looked at Peter, whose scarred face was emotionless as he looked at his hands clasped on the table.

“Because he knew that I thought another werewolf had killed Laura,” Derek answered for him quietly, face white as a sheet from processing the information Peter had just dumped on him. “He knew that it looked like he was to blame and that in my grief, I would strike first and ask questions later.”

“But he’s an Alpha-” Scott started to say, before Peter cut him off.

“Yes, but I was still weak and healing,” he said. “And to be honest, I wasn’t ready to face Derek after what I thought he had done.”

At this, Derek tensed up all over and his claws accidentally tore a hole through the hotel bedspread. His jaw dropped open before he schooled his expression into resigned defeat. He hung his head in shame and didn’t say a thing.

“What do you mean, ‘thought he had done?’” Sam asked.

“I thought Derek was the one who had betrayed our family to Hunters, told them our secrets and let them burn us to the ground,” Peter said frankly.

A gasp echoed throughout the room before Derek jumped up, jaw tense and eyes full of agony.

“But I did! I was stupid and foolish and trusted a human with our secret even though I knew she wasn’t my mate because I thought I was in love,” Derek yelled. “I betrayed them and now they’re all dead!”

His outburst was met by shocked stares and awkward silence. Surprisingly it was the Sheriff who broke the silence.

“It wasn’t your fault Derek,” he said, his eyes fierce and protective. He was beginning to fit all the pieces together and his instinct was telling him that Derek was just another victim, an innocent kid that had everything ripped away from him, just because he had chosen to love. He could see how Derek had shut the world out and kept only the bad memories and pain as his penance. “You are not to blame for what happened.”

“He’s right, you know,” Peter said softly. “I know that now. And I’m sorry for ever blaming you. Nothing you could have done in that situation would have changed what happened. And if you hadn’t been with her that night, you would have died with the rest of them.”

The room started spinning around Derek and he slammed his eyes shut and dug his claws into his legs to ground himself. The pain and the guilt he had been carrying for years would probably never completely go away, but the tiniest bit of relief at hearing his last remaining family member didn’t blame him washed over him like a tidal wave. Even Laura, who had been the one to rescue him after Kate left him chained and hooked up to a car battery while she burned his house down, had still acted stiffly around him for months and he had known that even though she tried not to she still blamed him at least a little bit for what happened. 

His eyes pricked with tears he tried to will away when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and a thumb rubbed reassuringly over his collarbone. He opened his eyes and saw Peter standing in front of him.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, eyes glowing and voice reverberating with the power of an Alpha. “And I don’t blame you for what happened. Kate Argent was a psychopath and she wasn’t working alone.”

He turned to the Winchesters, hand never leaving Derek’s shoulder, and Derek leaned into the touch.

“What do you boys know about Purgatory?” Peter asked.

///

As Kate spoke, and the bile rose higher in Stiles’ throat, he tried to distract himself from what she was saying by singing ‘99 bottles of beer’ in his head. It worked, mostly, and he had managed to get to 62 bottles of beer still on the wall before the demon realized he wasn’t listening.

Eyes flashing back to black, a slow smile spread itself across her face. “Now, now, you’re no fun when you’re not participating,” she purred, walking closer to him. “You can’t expect me to do all the work.”

She reached up to wear Stiles was still suspended in the air against the wall and ran her fingers up under his shirt. Curving them into claws, she dragged her nails hard down his stomach, leaving little red furrows on his skin. Stiles inhaled sharply and bit down on his tongue as frissons of revulsion shuddered through his body. 

“You’re no fun,” she mock pouted. “You don’t like my dirty talk or my teasing. Even Derek was a little more willing to try some new things.”

She dropped her hands lower, fondling his belt buckle with one hand and caressing the inside of his thigh with her other. 

Stiles saw red at the mention of Derek’s name.

“Go to hell,” he spat out, struggling against the invisible bonds holding him.

She laughed darkly before replying. “Been there, done that sweetie.” She turned away to leave but turned back suddenly like an idea had struck her. “But you know what I haven’t done in a while?”

She waved her hands and suddenly Stiles was shirtless and shivering against the concrete wall. Another wave of the hand produced a small silver blade in her hand. The insane glint in her eyes made Stiles’ toes curl up in fear and he began to shake as he saw where she was going.

“I’ve always loved a little body art,” she said as she lowered the gleaming blade towards Stiles’ skin. 

Stiles tried not to scream as she carved the first intricate rune into his skin.

///

“So that’s its endgame? Harvest the souls of your family to open a door that would unleash a monster that could destroy the world?” Sam asked as Peter finished talking.  
Peter nodded and Scott shuddered. “That sounds horrible.”

“Sounds like a slow Tuesday for us,” Dean said drily. Sam glared at him.

“So how do we stop it?” the Sheriff asked, to no one in particular. “We have to find my son and stop this son of a bitch, now.”

“Stopping it will be easy. Just leave that to Derek and I,” Peter said ominously. “Finding it is the problem. Whatever it is isn’t leaving a scent trail and has been very careful to cover its tracks. I’ve been dancing around it for weeks but I haven’t been able to get close.”

“Leave that to us,” Dean said, nodding at the angel beside him. “Cas can do a sweep for anything out of place.”

The angel disappeared at once in a rustle of wings and Scott and the Sheriff looked startled, before Johnathan heaved a sigh and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. Sam looked over at the Sheriff, impressed with how he seemed to take it all in stride. The young werewolf boy, however still looked confused.

“But…how?” he said, looking to the Winchesters.

“Angels, man,” Dean said with a snort and a shake of his head. “You get used to it after a while.”

Cas reappeared in the motel room with a confused look on his face. “Dean,” he began, voice grave. “I cannot locate Stiles, nor do I sense anything out of place. I fear the demon may be using warding sigils to keep its location concealed.”

“Dammit, I was afraid of that, do you think you-” Dean started to say before Derek let out a yell.

The entire room turned to stare at him as he fell to his knees on the floor, clutching his chest. He shouted again, eyes flashing blue and he lifted his shirt to reveal a shape cut into the skin just above his heart. Before their eyes, the cut faded into smooth skin only to be replaced by a different shape below it.

Scott turned horrified eyes towards Peter, looking for an explanation but Peter simply stared at the disappearing and reappearing marks on Derek’s skin at a loss for words.

“It’s Kate,” Derek said to Peter weakly as yet another cut appeared on his skin, this time deeper than the others, and a trickle of blood started snaking its way down his torso. “The demon is possessing Kate Argent and she has Stiles.”


End file.
